


No Smoke Without Fire

by Suzie_Shooter



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Firefighters, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Arson, Baking, Explicit Sexual Content, Kissing, M/M, Major Character Injury, Past Drug Use, Past Relationship(s), Rescue, Sex in a Car
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-29
Updated: 2014-11-29
Packaged: 2018-02-27 10:21:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 34,686
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2689265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Suzie_Shooter/pseuds/Suzie_Shooter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This was written for a prompt of "Athos rescues Porthos from a burning building. Porthos is so grateful that he's driving Athos mad," but it got a bit more complex than that...basically it's firefighter!Athos (and Aramis and d'Artagnan) and hopelessly-in-love!Porthos, with added angst, ex-boyfriend-complications, and shit variously blowing up and catching fire.</p>
            </blockquote>





	No Smoke Without Fire

**Author's Note:**

> If you'd rather read it in chapters, it's on LJ in 17 consecutive posts from [here](http://suzie-shooter.livejournal.com/585132.html).

When Porthos woke that morning, there was a nagging feeling that something wasn't right. He was in a strange bed for a start, although further investigation revealed that it was only Charon's and therefore nothing to be concerned about, particularly given he was alone in it. 

He was massively hungover, which was par for the course given the amount they'd drunk the night before. His head appeared to be in a vice, which he put down to the hangover for a good thirty seconds before realising he was wearing Charon's big headphones, and dimly remembered shouting at a room full of people at three in the morning to shut the fuck up as he was trying to sleep.

He pulled them off and threw them to the floor, groaning. He could smell smoke and made a face, burying his head under the covers. Most of them had been smoking last night, and he hated the way it made the whole flat stink the day after. 

Despite the muffling effects of the bedclothes there was an odd background roaring noise that he couldn't block out, and after a while he sat up with a sigh. It was white noise, as if someone had left a TV tuned to a missing channel. He pulled on jeans over his boxers and was struggling into a t-shirt as he walked into the living room, meaning that it was another good few seconds before his head emerged from the cotton to discover the room was full of smoke.

"What the fuck? Charon!" Porthos bellowed, looking round wildly, wondering if someone had managed to fall asleep with a fag in their hand. But the flat was quiet, and the smoke seemed to be coming under the door from the corridor outside. 

Backing away in alarm, Porthos did a rapid search of the flat and was bewildered to discover he was on his own. Staring out of the window revealed a confusion of fire engines and milling residents in the car park five storeys below, bringing with it the belated and frightening realisation that the entire fucking building was apparently on fire.

Porthos dashed back to the front door of the tiny apartment, coughing now as the smoke thickened. For a second he hesitated, grabbing someone's discarded shirt to wrap around his hand before touching the door handle. He couldn't help feeling this was a bad idea, but there was no other means of getting out. He had a vague memory of there being a metal fire escape running down the side of the building. If he could make it to that, he had a chance.

Pulling the door open sent him reeling backwards as what felt like a wall of smoke and heat burst in from the corridor. Coughing and swearing he staggered back, retreating to the bedroom and slamming the flimsy door behind him. Clearly there was no escape that way, and for the first time the true horrifying gravity of his situation sank in.

\--

"Is that everyone?" Aramis pulled off his hard hat and face mask and pushed his sweaty hair back with his arm.

"Fuck knows." Athos glared sourly at the burning building as if taking personal offence with it. "Most were coming out before it took too bad a hold, but the landlord's unreachable and most of the flats seem to be sub-let. So we have no idea how many people might have been in there to do a head-count in the first place. Half of them seem to be illegal immigrants, don't even understand what we're asking." He shook his head in disgust. "Whole place was a death-trap, to be honest I'm amazed it's not burnt down before this."

"It spread so quickly." D'Artagnan was staring up at the facade with a look of impressed shock. Somewhere nearby a window shattered with an explosion of glass and he ducked instinctively. Aramis and Athos didn't move an inch, and he cleared his throat with embarrassment.

Aramis glanced at Athos, ready to take the piss out of the rookie member of their team, but Athos was staring up at the building with a frown, trying to see through the billowing smoke and jets of water coming from the hoses.

"There's someone up there," he said suddenly. "On the - fifth floor? There's still someone fucking in there."

The others looked where he was pointing, and made out a blurred face at one of the windows.

"Fuck," said Aramis with feeling. "How the hell didn’t they hear the alarms?"

"Hey. Hey! Get a ladder up there!" Athos was yelling and pointing, but after a confused few seconds it became apparent the ones they had would only reach the third storey.

"Where the fuck's the big one?"

"Tender's out to another shout," said Treville, coming over and looking grim. "It's on its way here, but it'll be another few minutes."

"Let's hope he's safe where he is for a bit," Aramis muttered. They stared up at the figure, who seemed to be waving urgently to attract their attention. 

Athos stiffened. "Tell me he's not going to open the window. Oh shit, no, no don't do that you absolute tw-" his rising tirade cut off abruptly as the figure above them succeeded in getting the window open. A second later a blast of heat and smoke billowed out as the fire immediately slammed through the inner room, and the figure disappeared from sight. 

"Fuck." Athos grabbed his hat and was running towards the entrance before anyone else could move. 

"Athos! Athos don't you dare!" Treville bellowed after him. "Athos!" 

Athos kept running, either not hearing or paying no attention and Treville spluttered in fury. "Athos I'm ordering you, not to set foot in that - oh for fuck's sake." Athos had disappeared in through the doorway, the broken and charred wood running with dirty water.

Aramis and d'Artagnan looked at each other and promptly set off after him, only to be brought up short by Treville grabbing the back of both their suits.

"Don't you take one more step," Treville growled. "Either of you."

"But Athos - " d'Artagnan protested, then fell quiet at the glare he earned.

"Not one step. Do I make myself clear? I am not losing you your first week on the damn job. And Aramis you should know better."

"Yes sir," they muttered. Treville stared at them a second longer to be sure they meant it, then stalked off to yell at someone else because the ladder rig still wasn't here.

They stared up at the building in silence for a second. Bits of it were starting to collapse, and it was becoming apparent the hoses were having little to no effect. It would have to burn itself out, and there would be precious little left.

"He'll be okay, right?" d'Artagnan ventured in a low voice.

"Course he will," Aramis told him with more confidence than he felt. "Indestructible, is Athos." He crossed himself behind d’Artagnan’s back, hoping he was right and offering up a silent prayer.

\--

Inside, the building was a smoke and flame-filled hellhole. Athos forced his way up the stairwell, which was only still standing through virtue of being solid concrete. The heat was intense, and even with a face mask and breathing apparatus the going was hard. Every instinct told him to turn around and get the hell out, and with every step he took he knew the chances of being able to come back this way were diminishing. Still he pressed on, filled with a stubborn and bloody-minded resolve.

Athos counted the levels as he went, and eventually pushed his way out between fallen joists and twisted bits of metal ceiling grid into the corridor of what he sincerely hoped was the right floor. He made his way along, counting doors until he got to where he thought the face had been.

He pulled his respirator away for a moment and yelled. 

"Hey! Can you hear me? Are you up here?" Desperately hoping that he hadn't miscounted or got turned around. It was supremely disorienting in the smoke, and he could easily be on the wrong side of the building for all he knew.

He ploughed on, banging on doors that were starting to burn until he came to one that was hanging open. 

"Hello?" Athos peered into the room beyond, flames taking hold of the furniture and belching out evil looking fumes.

Distantly there was a faint cry in response, and he gritted his teeth and ran inside.

In the bedroom he found a man sprawled on the floor under the window, nearly unconscious and bleeding from a cut over the eye. Athos dropped to the ground, crawling over to him beneath the worst of the smoke and shoving the respirator over his mouth.

After a few seconds the man's eyes blinked open, and he started to cough.

Athos grunted with relief. "It's going to be okay. Can you hear me? Can you tell me your name?"

Disoriented and scared eyes stared back at him, but then came a shaky nod.

"Porthos," he managed, his throat scratchy and eyes streaming.

"Right then Porthos, you hang in there okay? I'm going to get you out of here." Athos stood up and leaned out the window, waving vigorously. Dimly he heard a shout from below, and was relieved to see the big fire tender had arrived. He ducked down again, taking a quick lungful of air before giving the mask back to Porthos. 

"I think we'll take the quick way down if you don't mind," he murmured. "Now, when I say, I want you to take a deep breath of air and hold it till we're outside, okay? I'm going to carry you out of the window, and I'd appreciate it if you could try not to panic, or we'll end up taking the _really_ quick way down."

Porthos coughed. "You'll never lift me, I'm bigger than you." Despite the bulky suit and air tank, it was obvious the fireman had a slighter build than him.

"You let me worry about that." There was a bang outside as the ladder hit the sill and Athos looked out quickly to check the position. "Right. Deep breath for me?"

Porthos did as he was told and nodded. Athos took the mouthpiece back and slipped an arm round Porthos. He gave a twist, and in a move that Porthos didn’t quite follow suddenly he was hanging over the man's shoulder, a firm arm locked around him, and Athos was climbing carefully out of the window.

Porthos had a confused view of an air tank and his rescuer's arse, before focussing on the ground five floors below and wishing he hadn't. He squeezed his eyes shut instead against the temptation to struggle for a more secure hold, and only opened them again when several pairs of hands were lifting him down.

To his shame his legs gave way and Porthos was helped to an ambulance stretcher where he sat down heavily. He was handed an oxygen mask by a paramedic and told to take slow breaths. 

In between gulping in enough to make him light-headed and coughing miserably, Porthos looked round for his rescuer, realising he hadn't had a chance to say thank you. He was sitting on a low wall a short distance away, and as Porthos watched, pulled off his helmet and face mask. 

If you'd asked Porthos to describe a typical fireman, he’d probably have summoned up the image of the muscle-bound oiled beefcake of a thousand calendars. Not this wiry figure with a scruffy beard and surprisingly long hair curling round his face.

Two other firefighters stood either side of him, one looking mostly amused and the other nakedly admiring, both clearly relieved. As Porthos watched, trying to find enough strength to go over and say thank you, an older man strode across to them.

Athos looked up warily as Treville stamped to a stop.

"Athos de la Fere if you ever disobey a direct order from me again you'll be out on your ear faster than you can blink, do you hear me?" Treville said icily. "We have procedures for a reason."

Athos glanced across at Porthos. "Another few seconds he'd have been unconscious. By the time anyone had got up that ladder he'd have been beyond reviving," he said tiredly.

Porthos blinked to hear how close he'd come to not making it, and his gratitude towards the man - Athos? - doubled in an instant. 

Treville jabbed a finger at Athos' face. "You made it out. This time. What happens when your luck runs out? Also need I remind you, you have a responsibility to set an example. You want d'Artagnan here to think it's okay to ignore protocols and run headlong into an inferno?"

"No sir. Sorry sir," Athos muttered. 

Treville held his gaze angrily. "Both these idiots would have followed you in there. I won't have your death wish endangering the rest of my team." He turned and strode off, leaving Athos looking somehow like a reprimanded schoolboy.

Aramis clapped him on the shoulder. "He only yells because he cares," he murmured.

Athos gave him a grateful smile, then looked up as someone else cleared their throat. 

Porthos had finally come over and was looking at him almost shyly. "I just wanted say - thanks. And sorry, for getting you a bollocking. Seriously, I thought I'd had it. You were incredible in there."

Athos shrugged. "Just doing my job."

"Above and beyond, by the sounds of it." Porthos shifted from foot to foot. "Anyway. Thanks."

"What happened to your head?" Aramis asked. "Athos didn't bash you on the windowsill getting you out did he?" Athos aimed a kick at his shin, and Aramis jumped back, laughing.

Porthos smiled. "Nah. Hit it when I fell over. Knocked myself silly and then the room was full of smoke and I couldn't breathe. Couldn't even tell which way was out."

"Why were you still in there?" D'Artagnan couldn't help asking. "The fire alarm must have been going off for ages before the wiring melted."

"I was asleep." Porthos felt even sillier as all three of them stared at him. "I mean, I had headphones on. I couldn't hear a thing."

"Well. Sorry about your flat," Aramis offered. "And, um, you know. The building."

Porthos shrugged. "It's not mine. I was just staying over." He looked around, wondering for the first time what had happened to Charon and the others, and wondering with a sick sense of betrayal if they'd run out when the alarms went off and just left him in there. But he couldn’t see anyone he recognised amongst the crowds of stunned looking residents, so maybe they'd gone out before it happened. If that was the case, it would certainly be a shock to come back to.

He swayed a little as a wave of dizziness washed over him, and Aramis frowned, beckoning one of the paramedics across.

"You need to get that cut seen to. You might need stitches."

Porthos submitted without a fight. He felt distinctly odd, and also didn’t have any shoes on, which made sitting in an ambulance a more appealing prospect than standing in the car park.

Athos looked up. "Maybe afterwards they could take a look at my shoulder?" he murmured discreetly.

Aramis swung round and stared at him. "What's wrong with your shoulder?" he demanded.

"Told you I was too heavy for you," Porthos said, and Athos gave him a slight smile.

"No, I ripped my suit earlier getting out of the stairwell. Think I might have got a bit - " he looked distinctly embarrassed. "Burnt."

Aramis had dropped to his knees beside him and was teasing the torn fabric of Athos' jacket away until he could see the skin beneath. He winced.

"Jesus Athos. Why didn't you say something before, you idiot?"

"Too busy being shouted at," Athos muttered. "I'm fine. It just stings a bit."

Aramis rolled his eyes. "We'll let the hospital be the judge of that, shall we?" He waved at the paramedic who was helping Porthos into the ambulance. "Room for one more?"

As the ambulance doors closed, Porthos found himself being guided to one of the stretchers and made to lie down, while the paramedic strapped him securely in. He suffered this with a minimum of fuss, and she turned to Athos, who raised a hand in mild protest.

"Ah, I'm good, thank you," he murmured, and some combination of the uniform and the quiet authority in his voice meant he was allowed to merely sit on the opposite trolley as the ambulance drove off.

He caught Porthos' eye and must have seen the indignance on his face, because although he didn’t quite smile there was something about his expression that suggested he recognised the indignity he'd escaped, and was sympathetic to Porthos' plight.

Porthos lay there and watched him. It was still sinking in, that if it hadn't been for this man he'd probably be dead, or at least headed for intensive care. It was too big a concept for him to comfortably get his head round, and he concentrated on little things instead.

The thought occurred to him that if _he'd_ just saved someone's life he'd be making the most of it, not bragging exactly, at least he liked to think not, but at least proudly banging his own drum a bit. Athos seemed to be doing his best to down-play it, as if he was embarrassed by the idea he'd done anything special. And he'd been injured. He'd risked his life, and been injured in the process, to save the life of a man he'd never met.

Maybe it was painkillers they'd given him outside, but Porthos was suddenly feeling rather emotional.

"Sorry about your arm," he said, when it appeared Athos was entirely content to sit in silence for the duration of the journey.

Athos looked up in surprise. "It's nothing," he said. "My fault. I should have been more careful. I was rushing."

"To save me." Porthos smiled at him. "You were amazing." 

Athos looked flustered. "All in a day's work, I assure you," he muttered.

"No, really. You were. How did you lift me like that?"

Athos shrugged. "Practise. Training. There's a knack."

"Must come in handy."

Athos looked up and a smile finally twitched at the corners of his mouth. "What, for when I'm kidnapping people?" he suggested.

Porthos laughed. "Well, you can throw me over your shoulder anytime." 

Athos looked even more amused. "Well. I'll certainly bear that in mind," he murmured.

Porthos blushed as he realised how blatant it had sounded. "Sorry. They gave me something for the pain and I think it's sent me a bit daft."

"How are you feeling?" Athos asked, looking genuinely concerned, and Porthos warmed to him even more.

"Could be worse. Bit of a headache, but to be honest that might be mostly hangover."

Athos smiled. "Mmmn. Been there," he sympathised. "Is there anyone who can come and be with you? They might want to keep you in for observation if they think you've got a concussion, if there's no-one else that can keep an eye on you."

Porthos frowned. "No, not really. I live alone."

"What about the friend you were staying with?"

"Charon?" Porthos looked surprised. "I'm not even sure where he is to be honest."

"Can't you call him?

Porthos sighed. "My phone was in my jacket. Which is presumably toast. Along with my shoes. Thank God I put my jeans on, or I'd have lost my door keys and wallet as well." Also he'd have been lying here in his pants, which would have been awkward in the extreme.

"Charon's your - partner?" Athos ventured, perhaps wondering why Porthos wasn't more concerned about his whereabouts.

"No. Just a friend." Porthos sighed. "Well. Ex, actually. I was just staying over." He looked hopefully at Athos. "I'm single."

"That's nice," said Athos neutrally, and Porthos winced.

"Sorry."

"For being single?" Athos smiled, a flicker of amusement in his eyes that suggested he knew precisely what Porthos had been getting at.

"No, for - " Porthos sighed. "Never mind." He stared at the roof of the ambulance for a bit. It was bloody uncomfortable lying here and he was starting to feel a bit travel-sick.

"So - how about you?" he asked after a pause.

"How about me what?"

"Girlfriend?" Athos wasn't wearing a ring, so Porthos was assuming he wasn't married. "Boyfriend?" Trying for studied casualness as he slipped that in, and missing by a mile.

Athos shook his head slightly. "Oh, I'm married to the job," he murmured non-committally.

Porthos gave a short laugh. "In other words, shut up Porthos," he said, lying back in surrender. 

"Perhaps your friend could come and stay with you," Athos suggested. "He must be in need of somewhere to stay right now."

"Yeah." Porthos frowned. "Maybe I'll find out if he left me in there first," he said darkly.

"I hope for his sake he didn't." Athos half-smiled as Porthos looked over at him curiously. "Well, I wouldn’t want to get on the wrong side of you."

Porthos grinned. "Nah. I'm a pussycat really."

As the ambulance pulled up in front of the hospital, unhampered by straps Athos stood up to leave and smiled down at Porthos. "Ye-es. I think I can sense your claws."

\--

Porthos finally arrived home late in the evening, disgorged from a taxi wearing disposable hospital slippers and shivering in his t-shirt. Letting himself into his flat, he made a cup of tea and sat down to dig through the drawer of random bits of paperwork that he'd never got round to sorting out, until he eventually unearthed a scrap of paper with Charon's mobile number on it. 

Without a landline he'd have to go out and buy a cheap new phone before he could call him, although Porthos supposed there was a chance Charon would turn up at his door in the meantime.

He sighed. He was tired, and achy, and smelt of an unappealing combination of smoke and hospital waiting rooms. They'd given him two stitches in his forehead, some painkillers that had worn off hours ago, and some cream for the couple of mild burns he'd sustained, and for all that had kept him hanging around most of the day.

His mind drifted to Athos, wondering where he was and what he was doing right now. Whether he'd spared a thought for Porthos since they parted company. 

Feeling rather lonely and sorry for himself, Porthos stripped off his clothes and dropped them in the basket. He'd have to take them to the launderette, and wished not for the first time that his flat was big enough to take a washing machine. 

It was more of a bedsit really, a combined kitchen and living area, tiny bedroom and tinier bathroom, crammed into half the ground floor of a converted house. But it was home, and it was his, and there was something to be said for that. Also, it was still standing, which had a lot more to be said for it, Porthos reminded himself as he stepped into the shower.

The hot water revived him a bit, but it also made the raw skin sting like buggery, and he carefully daubed on the antiseptic cream before curling despondently into bed, reflecting that it was just as well Athos couldn't see him now.

It felt like it had been a long time since anyone had bothered to put themselves out for Porthos, certainly not without thought of reward or return. Quite apart from the rescue itself, he kept returning to the memory of Athos sitting opposite him in the ambulance, quiet and calm and reassuring. Realising that if he'd been bundled off to hospital on his own he'd probably have freaked out. 

He had a lot to be grateful for, and fell asleep determined to find a way to show his appreciation.

\--

Two days later Porthos made his way to the local firehouse with a basket over one arm and a stomach full of nerves. He had no idea if Athos would be there, but assuming he was working regular shifts and wasn't out on a call, then Porthos figured there was a good chance he might be.

He'd spent the intervening time wavering between determination to say thank you properly and the conviction that Athos would barely remember who he was. In the end, the realisation that he'd thought about precious little else than Athos for nearly forty eight hours was enough to convince him. Even if he was laughed out of the station he needed to see Athos just one more time.

Also, he had to admit a secondary motive in going there. He'd finally acquired another phone and called Charon, but there'd been no answer, nor had he turned up on Porthos' doorstep in either concern for his wellbeing or in search of a place to stay. 

The local news hadn't reported any fatalities in its brief coverage of the fire, but Porthos had a nagging worry that Charon might have been in someone else's flat when the fire took hold. And he knew from experience that Charon might well have been in no state to notice the building literally burning down around him. Athos, or one of the others would surely know if anyone had died in there.

He reached the building and ventured into the entrance foyer. A woman in the reception office at first attempted to head him off, but when he asked for Athos by name and offered her first pick of the contents of his basket, he was directed through to a recreation room at the end of the hall.

Walking hesitantly in through the door, Porthos found a room with a scattering of formica tables and metal chairs, a couple of sofas, and a few kitchen units. A group of men were gathered around a table football game, and a couple of others that Porthos didn't recognise looked up at him curiously. 

He was about to apologise and back out again when a friendly voice hailed him and he turned to find one of the firefighters who'd been standing with Athos that day was waving at him.

"Hello. It's Porthos isn't it? Fully recovered? Whatever are you doing here?"

He sounded curious rather than accusatory, and Porthos relaxed a fraction. 

"Hello - ah, sorry, I don't - ?"

"Oh, I'm Aramis. And this is d'Artagnan. Were you looking for Athos?"

Porthos' face brightened involuntarily, and Aramis indicated behind him with a discreet nod.

Porthos turned round and found that Athos was standing hardly any distance away at all, had obviously been standing at the kitchen counter with his back to the room when Porthos had walked in.

At finding himself in such unexpectedly close proximity Porthos immediately forgot all the carefully planned words he'd worked out and became utterly tongue tied.

Athos was dressed in black cargo pants and a white t-shirt, a clinical dressing visible around his left upper arm under the sleeve, and Porthos couldn't summon a single coherent thought apart from how much he suddenly needed this man to fuck him.

"Hello," said Athos, when it became apparent Porthos wasn't going to say anything. "Is everything alright?"

Porthos found his voice. "Yes. Uh. Sorry. I just - I never really got the chance to say thank you the other day. For, you know. Saving my life and all. So I, uh, made these for you." He held out the basket. "Chocolate brownies. Figured you could share them out. It's not much, but - yeah."

"Did someone say brownies?" d'Artagnan materialised at his side, Aramis right behind him. 

Athos looked amused. "That's - very kind of you. Thank you." He took the offered basket and set it down on the table where it was immediately pounced on by the other two. 

Porthos caught Aramis lifting one to his nose, and bridled at the implication.

"There's nothing funny in it!"

Aramis grinned at him, unabashed. "Pity." He took a bite and made appreciative noises. "Mmn. These are really good."

"Won't you have one?" Porthos said hopefully to Athos, as d'Artagnan followed Aramis' example and selected one eagerly but Athos had made no move towards them.

"Ah, I'm not really a huge fan of chocolate to be honest," Athos confessed. "I'm sure they're lovely though, and they certainly won't be wasted, thank you."

Porthos was stricken. "Shit, sorry, I should have checked. I just figured everyone liked chocolate."

"Athos always has to be difficult," Aramis smirked. "He's a nightmare at Christmas."

"Like you're _complaining_ that there's always more for you," Athos drawled, and Aramis snickered.

Porthos was shaking his head. "I'll make you something else."

"No, really," Athos looked embarrassed. "You don't have to do that. You didn't have to do _this_. We were all just doing our job."

"Hey, don't discourage him," d'Artagnan grinned. "These are amazing."

"How are you not the size of a house?" Athos complained. "You never stop eating."

"Fast metabolism," d'Artagnan said through a mouthful of a second brownie. "Lots of exercise."

"Genetically skinny bastard more like," Aramis snorted.

Porthos watched the good-natured bickering with a smile, then sobered as he remembered his other question. "Um. There is one thing I was wondering. My friend's still not been in touch, and I just - were there any - did anyone not get out?"

Athos looked surprised, and shook his head. "Not that we've heard. They've been through the building pretty thoroughly and it seems like everyone made it out." He smiled. "You were the last."

Porthos couldn't remember the last time a simple smile had made him feel this giddy.

"Right. Thanks. Well, anyway, I won't keep you," he managed. "I just thought I'd drop in." Like he hadn't been obsessing over it for two days. "Oh, how's your shoulder?" 

"I'll live," Athos told him. "Really, it's fine. How are you doing? I see they gave you stitches."

Porthos raised a hand to his head, remembering for the first time that he had an ugly graze down his face and a burn mark on his cheek. "Fine. I'm fine. Just a scratch," he said hastily. He decided to make his escape before he said anything humiliating, and despite his embarrassment over the brownies was glad that it had inadvertently given him an excuse to come back.

When he'd gone, Athos sat down at the table and picked up the crossword, hoping to avoid the teasing from the others that he suspected was inevitable. 

"Athos," Aramis chided. "There is such a thing as being too honest you know. You couldn't just have taken a mouthful of what he was offering you?" he said, in an innocent tone entirely at odds with his suggestive grin.

"I could, but then I understood it was equally bad manners to spit," Athos murmured without looking up from the newspaper. 

Aramis promptly inhaled a mouthful of brownie from laughing too hard and d'Artagnan had to bang him on the back until he recovered.

\--

"Hey, it's your new friend."

Athos looked over his shoulder, saw the silhouette of Porthos framed in the doorway, and his heart sank a little. "Don't you dare - " he began, but Aramis was already waving him vigorously in, with an evil grin at Athos.

 _I hate you,_ Athos mouthed at him, then got up to greet Porthos with a sigh. He'd rather hoped after the previous day's visitation Porthos would have lost interest, but apparently not. "Hello again."

"Hey. I um. I had another go. How do you feel about blueberry muffins?" Porthos asked hopefully, offering up the plastic box he'd been clutching.

Athos tried to ignore the sniggering coming from behind him and summoned up what he hoped was an appreciative smile. "That - sounds great. You really didn't have to go to all this trouble you know."

"Oh, it's no trouble. Really. I just wanted to say thank you properly. Giving you something you didn't even like was hardly a good start was it?"

"Could always have bought him a bottle of claret," Aramis called and Athos gave him the finger without looking round.

"Ignore him. He thinks he's clever."

Conscious that every eye in the place was on him, Athos opened the container. The buns inside really did look good and he took one out then passed the box to Aramis. 

"Thank you," Athos said again, feeling increasingly awkward and wondering if Porthos was intending to stand there and make sure he ate it this time.

Fortunately Aramis came to his rescue, being far more free with meaningless small talk and heaping praise on Porthos' baking skills. When Porthos moved across to talk to him, Athos made his escape, sidling over to the kitchenette and busying himself making tea away from the gathering crowd of hungry firemen.

When Porthos finally looked around, he was mildly anxious to find Athos had drifted away to stand on his own. "Is he alright?" he said to Aramis in an undertone. "I've not upset him have I? He's not allergic to blueberries or something?"

To his relief Aramis looked unconcerned. "Oh, ignore the miserable sod. He just doesn't like being the centre of attention, that's all." 

Porthos winced inwardly. It was slowly dawning on him that a lot of the assembled crew were making fun of Athos for this, and even if it was all good-natured it still wasn't what he'd intended. He walked over, and was faintly surprised to find Athos was actually eating the muffin after all.

"I'm sorry if I've embarrassed you," Porthos sighed. "I never meant to. I just wanted to do something nice." 

He looked so miserable that Athos gave him a genuine smile of sympathy. "It's alright. Don't worry about it. I'm used to them. It was a lovely thing to do, and these are delicious, you're very clever."

Porthos beamed at him. "Nah, not really. I just enjoy it."

"Did your friend turn up yet?" Athos enquired, and Porthos frowned.

"No, not a word from him. I don't know what to think."

Suddenly a loud bell sounded through the room, ringing on and on, and Porthos jumped.

"That'll be us," said Athos, putting down his mug quickly and clapping Porthos on the arm. "Sorry, have to go. Thanks again!" He was already running for the door with the rest of them and after a few seconds Porthos was startled to find he was completely alone.

Out in the echoing garage, as they climbed into the back of the fire truck, suited and booted and already high on adrenaline, Aramis nudged Athos sharply in the ribs. 

"He's got it bad," Aramis grinned. "Your mate in there."

"I'm sure I don't know what you mean."

"Two batches of home cooking?" Aramis smirked. "Please."

"He's just being friendly."

"Friendly my arse. He's got that look."

"What look?" Athos asked exasperatedly, as the vehicle raced out of the station and they all bounced uncomfortably as it took the turn.

Aramis winked at d'Artagnan. "The look that says he wants to find out how long your hose is."

"Yeah," d'Artagnan agreed gleefully. "He totally wants a go on your fireman's pole."

As the jokes got increasingly worse, Athos buried his head in his hands and groaned.

\--

Preoccupied with his thoughts, when Porthos arrived home he was almost at the front door before he realised someone was lurking at the end of the path, and he started.

"Jesus!" He stared at the man looking sheepishly back at him. "Charon. Where the fuck have you been? I thought - " 

"What?"

"Never mind. I tried to call you!"

"I know." Charon followed him into the hall and then into the flat. "I got your message."

"What, that's it? That's all you're going to say? You've been missing for three days Charon, your building burnt down, and it nearly took me with it!"

"What? What are you talking about?"

"Your flat. Big fire?" Porthos stopped abruptly. "Shit, you do _know_ , right?"

"Yeah. Yeah, course. I just meant what did you mean about taking you with it?" Charon opened the fridge without being invited. "Got any beer?"

"It's eleven o clock in the fucking morning!"

"Got any vodka then?" Charon jumped up to sit on the counter and grinned at him.

Porthos sighed. "Where did you go? Where have you _been?_ I woke up and there was smoke everywhere, and the place was on fire and - " 

_And the most gorgeous bloke I've ever met rescued me from it and I think I'm in love,_ Porthos added mentally. 

" - and the fire brigade had to get me out the window. I could have _died_."

Charon's eyebrows went up. "Shit. What a trip." Porthos glared at him and he shrugged. "What?"

"Promise me you didn't haul out when the alarms went off and leave me in there," Porthos said flatly.

"Fuck no!" Charon's indignance seemed entirely genuine. "You think I'd do that to you? We just went out in the small hours, for - supplies, you know what I'm saying? And then it all sort of carried on from there. We were having too much fun to come home."

"You mean you've been on a three day bender," Porthos growled at him. "You don't even care, do you? You've lost your home and you don't even care."

"It was a shitty flat and I owed three months' rent," Charon shrugged. "Talking of which, you couldn't lend me some cash could you?"

"No I fucking couldn't," Porthos retorted. 

"Oh come on," Charon wheedled, smirking at him with bright eyes. "I've just lost everything."

"You didn't care two seconds ago." Porthos sighed. "How much?" At least Charon hadn't asked to stay.

"Fifty?"

Porthos dragged out his wallet and looked inside. "I can give you forty."

"That's it?"

"Till I get paid, yeah." Porthos held it out then twitched it away again. "Promise me this isn't going straight to your dealer?"

"Cross my heart and hope to die."

"You're a lying toerag." Porthos let him take the cash and sighed. Charon jumped down and to his surprise gave him a hug and a kiss on the cheek.

"Thanks babe. I owe you one."

"Where are you staying?" Porthos asked as Charon headed for the door.

"With Flea. She's got a new squat. It's got red wallpaper, it's fucked up. I love it."

He disappeared with a wave and Porthos stared at the closed door for a while with a conflicted heart. He was glad Charon was safe, and only mildly hurt that he'd clearly come round to bum money off him rather than to see if he was alright. Porthos had known him too long to let that bother him. But there'd been something else, something not quite ringing true, and he couldn't put his finger on it. 

He'd mostly believed Charon when he claimed he hadn't abandoned him, but there'd still been something odd about his manner. Porthos sighed. He thought of the professionalism and camaraderie of the people at the fire station, and compared it with the behaviour of his so-called friends. He knew who he'd rather be spending time with right now, and it was only partly down to his crush on Athos.

Athos. Porthos wondered how he was getting on, hoping that whatever emergency they'd rushed off to, that everyone was okay. At least Athos had liked his present this time. 

Porthos went to poke in the cupboards, wondering idly if he could make something else as an excuse for turning up again. He couldn't afford to buy any new ingredients right now, but he might be able to rustle something up based on what he already had. And this time when he went round, he'd make the most of the opportunity. This time, he would ask Athos out.

\--

Porthos' first attempt to deliver both baking and date invitation was foiled at the first hurdle when he arrived at the fire station to discover an entirely different group of men in residence. Enquiries revealed that rather than the full time cover he'd assumed, the place was only staffed part time, with the crews all holding down second part-time jobs and rotating being on call. 

Having established that the men (and woman) of Blue Watch were now on nights, Porthos went away again, mistrusting the covetous glances and promises that Red Watch would take delivery of the nice-smelling package and faithfully hand it over at the shift change.

He returned after seven that evening, walking in past the darkened reception and following the sounds of conversation and laughter. Letting himself in to the recreation room, he found most people were gathered around a raucous game of table football which d'Artagnan appeared to be winning, whilst on the other side of the room Athos and Aramis were playing each other at chess.

Porthos smiled at the contrast, taking a moment just to stand and watch. He felt a sudden longing to be a part of it all, not just a visitor but a genuine member of their close-knit team.

It was Aramis who noticed him first, glancing up and then doing a double-take in surprise. He grinned immediately, and Porthos smiled back, relaxing a little. 

Aramis leaned forward and murmured something to Athos, who looked up at him sharply and visibly tensed.

"Porthos! You're becoming quite the groupie!" Aramis called out, waving him over to them. "What can we do for you this fine evening?" 

"I've been baking again." Porthos gave Athos a tentative smile, thinking it was ridiculous how nervous the man made him. Athos smiled back, just a polite twitch of the lips.

Porthos refocused his attention on Aramis on the grounds he didn't make him tongue-tied and look like an idiot. "Yeah, there were too many for me, so I figured I should do my bit to support the city's finest," he lied.

Someone clapped him on the back and he turned to find d'Artagnan peering over his shoulder, having abandoned his football game in hope of treats. 

"I do like a man with a sense of civic duty," d'Artagnan grinned. "What have we got?"

"Florentines," Porthos told him. "Some with chocolate on, some without." He risked a glance at Athos, who was watching him with a studied neutrality, arms folded.

"You are the very best of men!" Aramis told him, mouth already full of biscuit. "How come you can do all this stuff? You a chef or something?"

Porthos shook his head. "I, er, I work in a bakery."

D'Artagnan laughed. "You're not nicking the profits are you?" 

"No!" Porthos looked affronted and d'Artagnan cackled, nudging him with his elbow.

"Only kidding. Doesn't it get dull taking your work home with you?"

"Not when I can make people happy with it," Porthos smiled at him. 

Aramis was waving the box under Athos' nose pointedly until he gave in and took one, rolling his eyes.

"Ooh, do you want your other box back?" Aramis said suddenly. "I've got it somewhere, we washed it. And the basket." He promptly disappeared, dragging d'Artagnan after him to leave Athos and Porthos alone in spectacularly unsubtle fashion.

They looked at each other, Athos wary and Porthos hopeful. 

"So, um. I was wondering," Porthos ventured. "If - I could maybe, say, buy you dinner? To say thank you properly."

Athos folded his arms again, hesitating slightly before answering. "I'm sorry, I don't think that would be a good idea."

"Why not?" Porthos protested. 

"Porthos, you _have_ thanked me, several times. And - I'm not being funny, but this is my job. I'm paid to do it. You don't need to thank me, and spending money on me - well it's really not appropriate."

Porthos blinked at him, disappointed but not deterred. "Well can I buy you dinner for reasons completely unrelated to the fact you're a fireman then?" he persisted.

Athos gave a huff of frustrated laughter. "Porthos - you seem a lovely guy, but - really, this isn't - "

"I like you Athos," Porthos interrupted. "Really like you."

"You don't know the first thing about me," Athos said quietly. 

"I know I like you," Porthos said obstinately. "I know you're brave. I know you're gorgeous. I know you're honest. And honourable. I know you like tea, and don't like chocolate. That seems like a pretty good starting point to me. I've dated people with a lot less going for them," he added before he could stop himself, and immediately winced in mortification, but Athos looked like he was trying not to laugh.

"Well. Thank you." Athos seemed a little confounded by the unexpected parade of his good points, and Porthos' hopes soared for a second until Athos' next words dashed them again. "But it's still a no."

"Why not?" Porthos protested, hoping he didn't sound either desperate or entitled, but clinging to the fact that Athos had said he seemed lovely.

Athos looked at him, briefly considering just lying and saying he wasn't gay, but coming right after Porthos had lauded his honesty it seemed inappropriate. Even though the truth would probably hurt Porthos' feelings more.

"Look, I know that when someone saves your life, it's a big thing. A huge thing. It makes an impact," Athos said softly. "And I'm not in any way suggesting it's not important, but to me - it's my day job Porthos. It's routine. I save people - well, maybe not every day, but often enough."

"Why is it so hard for you to believe that I like you?" Porthos asked, looking wounded.

"It isn't. That's my point. You'd be surprised how many people think they've fallen for you just because you've dragged them out of a burning building."

"Oh. Well, I didn't realise I was in a queue," Porthos said a little stiffly. Athos winced.

"Sorry, that - wasn't meant to sound quite so arrogant. All I'm saying is - you're not the first to imagine you're keen on the person that saved their life. Gratitude shouldn't be confused with attraction. There are those who are quite happy to take advantage of that fact, but - well I guess I'm just not one of them. I'm sorry Porthos, but there it is. I'm sure you'll soon get over it."

He walked away, leaving Porthos looking downcast and frustrated. Porthos was sure that what he was feeling had little to do with gratitude - if he was honest it had more to do with good old fashioned lust - but Athos refused to listen. Maybe he'd done the wrong thing by dressing up his visits with excuses of wanting to say thank you.

Aramis came over with his containers, clearly having been eavesdropping. 

"Should I give up?" Porthos asked him disconsolately. 

Aramis raised an eyebrow. "No-one likes a quitter," he murmured, and as Porthos walked out he drew a little heart from Aramis' sympathetic parting smile. If Athos' friends didn't seem to think it was hopeless, and weren't warning him off, then maybe there was still a chance.

D'Artagnan had followed Athos across the room. "Have you just upset the nice man who brings us baked goods?" he teased.

Athos snorted. "I guess you'll have to buy your own in future."

They were joined by Aramis, who kicked Athos under the table. "You know it wouldn't kill you to loosen up a little. When was the last time you got laid?"

"How is that any of your business?" Athos demanded.

Aramis shook his head with mock-sympathy. "That long, huh? No wonder you're tetchy."

Athos stared at him. "You think I should take advantage of someone who clearly feels an obligation to me, then?"

"No, I think you should give a nice guy who's obviously keen on you a fighting chance."

"Well. Too late now, so there's an end to it," Athos said shortly, picking up the newspaper and ignoring all further efforts to draw him into a discussion.

\--

For a few days all was quiet. Porthos didn't reappear, and they'd all assumed that Athos had driven him off once and for all, when one morning he suddenly walked in unannounced, with an air of nervous determination.

Conversation in the room tailed off as one by one the occupants stopped what they were doing to watch with varying degrees of amusement whatever was about to unfold.

Athos stepped forward to meet him with a cautious frown, clearly wondering what he was going to say. Aramis and d'Artagnan moved in to stand watchfully at his back. To a certain extent they both sympathised with Porthos' case, but Athos was their friend and they wouldn't willingly see him upset.

"I know what you're going to say," Porthos said before Athos could speak. "And that's not why I'm here." He took a steadying breath. "I've been thinking. About a lot of things. My life, in particular. The one I've still got, thanks to you." He held up a hand to forestall Athos' attempted interruption. 

"Let me finish. Like I say, I've been thinking. About doing something more meaningful. And I've decided. I'd like to become a fireman. I'd like to sign up. I've been looking at the requirements, and I think I could do it. I'd like to do it. I thought - maybe you guys could help me? With who to speak to and stuff?"

If he'd been hoping for a fulsome chorus of approval, he was disappointed. D'Artagnan and Aramis exchanged a look but stayed silent, letting Athos be the one to respond. 

Athos took a moment to reply, and when he did his voice was cold, although his initial words gave Porthos hope.

"Well. It's certainly a worthwhile job for anyone to do. Rewarding. Educational. You have the physical attributes, and you seem reasonably intelligent. You would, I imagine, be a credit to any station that employed you."

"But?" Porthos prompted hesitantly, because while Athos' words were encouraging, his tone was one of utter icy contempt and Porthos had no idea why.

"But - and I speak advisedly, because God knows the three of us joined up for some of the worst reasons on the planet, and forgive me if I'm entirely wrong about your motivations, but signing up for the sole purpose of trying to impress someone? Is the most fucking ridiculous thing I've ever heard in my entire life." 

So saying, Athos strode past him and out of the door, leaving Porthos looked shell-shocked and embarrassed.

There was a second's silence, while the rest of their audience turned back to what they'd been doing with much throat clearing and awkward laughter.

"So. Tea?" Aramis said brightly, striding over to the kettle. Porthos, who'd been on the verge of turning tail in humiliated defeat, was waved into a chair by d'Artagnan, and sat down heavily.

"Athos isn't really a people person," Aramis told him kindly. "Don't take it to heart. He might be prickly on the outside, but underneath - well, come to think of it he's fairly prickly underneath too, but you sort of get used to it." He set a mug of tea down in front of Porthos and joined them at the table.

"I just wanted to be a part of something," Porthos said, the heat gradually fading from his face as he slowly realised Aramis and d'Artagnan weren't just humouring him but were genuinely sympathetic. "I like it here. It's not just Athos, I like all of you."

"There's nothing stopping you dropping by," Aramis pointed out. He smiled. "And don't let me discourage you in the least because the cakes were amazing, but you don't need to bribe us either. There's a lot of hanging about in this job, we're always up for a chat."

"What did Athos mean, you all joined up for bad reasons?" Porthos asked curiously.

Aramis smirked. "Are you kidding? Have you got any idea how easy it is to get laid if you can tell people you're a fireman?"

Porthos laughed. "Maybe I'm chasing the wrong one."

"Porthos my friend, if I was gay I promise I would fall into your arms without hesitation," Aramis told him cheerfully and they all laughed.

"Athos is though? Gay, I mean?" Porthos asked after a second's thought. Aramis shrugged.

"If he's not told you otherwise then I'm assuming he is, although to tell you the truth I've never known him go out with anyone, man or woman."

"How long have you known him?"

Aramis worked it out on his fingers and looked faintly surprised. "Must be coming on for five years now. I suppose he might have had lovers that he's not mentioned, but I'm fairly certain there's been no-one serious."

Porthos looked over at d'Artagnan. "What about you? What's your story?"

D'Artagnan grinned at him, unabashed. "Oh, I joined up for the excitement of it. I mean how romantic is it to be rescuing people? It's not like you can go round slaying dragons any more is it?"

"Not sure you technically ever could," Aramis murmured, but d'Artagnan ignored him.

"He's got this terrible fixation with damsels in distress," announced Constance, walking past behind them and ruffling d'Artagnan's hair vigorously. "It's unhealthy."

"Hey! Cut it out!" D'Artagnan complained, fixing his hair huffily with his fingers. "She picks on me," he complained to Porthos. "It's because I'm new."

Porthos exchanged an amused look with Aramis. Playground tactics suggested a different reason entirely. 

"He'll learn," Aramis murmured. "She'll see to it."

Constance was, as far as Porthos had seen, the only female crew member on either watch and only mildly less intimidating than Athos, although so far she'd always been perfectly nice to him. 

"So what about Athos?" Porthos asked, his thoughts inevitably turning full circle back to him. "Why did he join up?"

Aramis shook his head. "You'd have to ask Athos," he said, although whether that meant he didn't know, or knew and wasn't saying, Porthos couldn't tell.

"Yeah, maybe not, eh?" Porthos finished his tea and stood up with a sigh. "Guess I'd better be off."

"Feel free to drop in whenever you want," Aramis told him. "Athos' bark is worse than his bite, I promise."

Porthos wandered outside and was startled to immediately see Athos leaning against the wall a short distance away from the entrance. He had a cigarette in his hand and his eyes screwed up against the bright morning sun. For a second Porthos considered just making a run for it, but Athos had seen him and given him a nod of acknowledgement, so he braced himself and walked over.

"Didn't know you smoked," he murmured, unable to think of anything else to say and immediately regretting it in case Athos took it as a criticism. To his surprise though, Athos gave a twitch of a smile and dropped the cigarette to the pavement, crushing it under his boot.

"I don't. I was considering taking it up, but it's revolting."

Porthos smiled back at him. "I hope I've not driven you to it."

Athos' half-smile dimpled in a way Porthos found adorable, and he gave a low laugh. "Not at all. And I'm glad I've seen you. I was unforgivably rude in there, and I'm sorry."

Porthos shrugged. "Probably had a point to be honest." He sighed, leaning against the wall next to Athos. "I just look at what you have and - " he hesitated. "I wanted to be a part of it I suppose. I wasn't suggesting it purely to impress you. Not _only_ that, anyway." He sneaked a look at Athos. "Would it be alright if I came back sometimes? Just to see everyone?"

"It's a free country."

"I don't want to come if it makes you uncomfortable."

Athos finally looked at him. "Does this mean you've decided to stop pursuing me?" he asked with a faintly amused expression.

"Hell no." Porthos grinned at him. "I'm going to keep asking you out until you say yes."

"As long as you understand that the answer will always be no," Athos told him levelly, although his eyes were sparkling with laughter.

"Fair enough." Porthos straightened up and nodded to him. "I can drop by then?" he checked.

Athos looked at him speculatively, and finally sighed. "Yes. Alright. Why not."

Porthos beamed, and Athos shook his head despairingly.

"It doesn't mean anything," he called after Porthos as he walked off, whistling.

When Porthos reached the corner of the street and looked round to find that Athos was still watching him, he blew him a kiss.

Athos shook his head again and disappeared inside the building. 

Porthos grinned.

\--

Over the following weeks Porthos fell into the habit of dropping into the firehouse whenever his shifts and those of Blue Watch allowed it. 

Having made his position clear, and finding that Porthos was willing to suffer continued rejection with blithe good humour, Athos was reserved but friendly. He was even talked into teaching Porthos the basics of chess, and Porthos, who'd never had any interest in the game, became abruptly obsessed with it, as it allowed him to sit quietly alone with Athos for long periods at a time. Athos proved to be a patient teacher, and frequently let Porthos win.

One morning Treville pulled Aramis quietly aside into his office. 

"Who's this chap I keep seeing around the place? It's not a bloody social club you know."

"Porthos du Vallon. He's the guy Athos pulled out of Miracle Court."

Treville raised his eyebrows. "The apartment block that went up? Oh dear. He hasn't developed some kind of fixation on him has he? Surely Athos isn't encouraging it?"

Aramis laughed. "No, I can honestly say Athos has done his level best to put him off. But given that Porthos has withstood the full brunt of Athos' personality and is still keen, I'd say it might be a bit more than a fixation."

Treville frowned at him. "Is Athos even - never mind. It's none of my business. I trust Athos to manage the situation. I suppose this man's not a security risk is he?"

"No, I wouldn't have said so." Aramis grinned. "In fact we were considering adopting him as our mascot."

Treville glowered at him irritably. "Oh, get out." 

\--

Turning up at the firehouse one night when a watch was due to end, ever-hopeful that this might be the night he managed to convince Athos to come for a drink with him, Porthos was surprised to find it dark and apparently deserted.

He eventually found Aramis in the rec room, sitting alone in the dark and staring into a mug of coffee. He knocked hesitantly on the open door, and when Aramis looked up Porthos was startled by how tired and drawn he looked.

"Porthos." Aramis raised a half-hearted smile. "This - isn't really a good time right now I'm afraid."

"Where is everybody?"

Aramis fidgeted with the mug in his hands. "D'Artagnan's been taken to the hospital," he said finally.

Porthos dropped into a chair opposite, staring at him in shock. "What? What happened?"

"Accident on a shout. Opened a door he shouldn't have, flashed up in his face."

"Will he be alright?" Porthos asked anxiously. He liked d’Artagnan, liked his enthusiasm and commitment, liked the way he always laughed at Porthos' lame jokes even when Athos was ignoring them. Especially when Athos was ignoring them.

Aramis nodded slowly. "Apparently it's mostly superficial burns and shock. He should be okay."

"Is Athos with him then?"

A shadow passed over Aramis face for a moment, and his lips tightened. "Athos, I imagine, is right about now crawling into the bottom of a bottle somewhere."

"What do you mean?" 

Aramis stared at him, then the anger seemed to drain out of him and he rubbed his eyes tiredly. "D'Artagnan should have waited, but he thought he knew best. Trouble is, where Athos has the experience to assess a situation before throwing himself into it anyway, d'Artagnan really doesn't yet. It wasn't Athos' fault. But that's not going to stop him blaming himself."

"But if d'Artagnan made the decision - ?" Porthos protested. Aramis shook his head.

"A while back Treville took Athos to task for setting a bad example. He's - rather taken it to heart."

"Where is he?"

Aramis studied him for a while before answering. "He normally drinks in The Wren. I can't guarantee what kind of welcome you'll get. But then, he's told me to fuck off once already this evening, so why shouldn’t you get a turn?"

\--

Porthos entered the bar with a certain amount of caution. It certainly wasn't a touristy place, the low beams and wooden floor weren't fake retro fit-out but rather looked like they'd been that way for hundreds of years. The floor was stained with a patina of spillages rather than varnish, and he got the impression that if you weren't a regular, you probably weren't welcome.

He drew a number of assessing glances as he walked in, not outrightly hostile, but enough to make his spine prickle. Porthos though, didn’t look like the kind of man you tangled with without a very good reason, and he was able to wander between the tables unmolested.

At first he thought Athos wasn't there, until he finally spied him tucked into a corner at the very back, the table in front of him already covered with a number of empties. He was staring absently into his glass, and didn't notice Porthos until he was standing over him.

When he did, he looked up in surprise, and scowled. "Fuck off Porthos. I'm not in the mood."

Porthos slid into the seat next to him. "I've been to the firehouse."

Athos looked sideways at him. "Then you'll know _why_ I'm not in the mood," he said shortly. He frowned. "Do remind me to _thank_ Aramis for telling you where to find me," he drawled, draining his glass and then glaring at it for being empty. 

"Athos, what happened wasn't your fault," Porthos ventured, but Athos turned on him, eyes flashing with anger.

"How the fuck would you know? You weren’t there."

"Aramis said - "

"Aramis doesn’t blame me. That's not the same thing as it not being my fault."

"But - "

"D'Artagnan might lose his sight. Did you know that?" Athos banged the glass down on the table and stared at him, his voice strained. Porthos stared back in shock, and realised with a lurch of his stomach that what he'd taken for glittering fury in Athos' eyes was actually held back tears.

"Aramis didn't - " Porthos faltered as Athos turned away, a look of guilt passing over his face. "He doesn't know, does he? You didn't tell him," he said quietly. 

Athos stared at the table. "I was with Treville when he took the call from the hospital. I should have told Aramis the whole of it, I just - I couldn't. I couldn't get the words out."

Porthos stared at him, aching to do something, to comfort him somehow, but theirs had never been a tactile acquaintance and Athos might as well have been a thousand miles away. 

Athos picked up his glass again automatically, and sighed with disgust on finding it empty. "If you're not going to fuck off you can at least make yourself useful and buy me a drink."

"Don't you think you've had enough?"

"No. I don't." Athos glared at him. "Shall I tell you when I'll have had enough? When I can't see it fucking happening any more."

Porthos swallowed. "You were there?" He hadn't realised Athos had witnessed it. No wonder he was in a state.

"Of course I was there." Athos' voice was faint, tight. "Aramis was still outside. We'd gone in ahead, to - to - " he broke off, took a shuddering breath. "It should have been me."

"Athos, no."

"Yes. It should have been me. I should have been in _front_. I was in charge of him Porthos, do you understand what that means? He trusted me to keep him safe."

"Does he blame you then?" Porthos asked. He couldn’t see it personally, d'Artagnan had never seemed the type to duck responsibility for his own mistakes. 

Athos shook his head miserably. "It doesn't matter. Don't you see? It doesn’t matter if he doesn't blame me. It doesn’t matter if it was his fuck up that caused it. He shouldn't have been in a position where any choice he made could have those consequences in the first place. Ultimately, I was responsible, and nothing anyone can say, no empty words can change that." He sounded broken, and Porthos couldn't stop himself, but put a hand over his.

Athos looked up at him then, and Porthos thought he was going to tell him to fuck off, but he just stared at him for a long moment with an unreadable expression.

"You going to get me that drink or not?" he said finally.

Porthos sighed. "Yeah, alright." He had to admit, in Athos' position, he'd probably have wanted to get wasted too. "Same again?"

Athos nodded and he went up to the bar, buying them both the same. When he came back, Athos didn't object when Porthos resumed his seat, but when he opened his mouth Athos held up a finger.

"No. I don't want to talk about it. If you're staying you shut the fuck up, okay?"

Porthos gave in. "Okay." At least Athos hadn't walked out, or forced him to leave, which he'd been more than half expecting. He was content just to sit here, to keep silent company with Athos in his misery, and to see he got home safely afterwards. That Athos was allowing this at all, Porthos sensed meant a lot more than it might appear.

For a while Porthos kept pace with Athos, then conceded defeat and sat nursing a coke while Athos continued to sink enough alcohol to leave most people Porthos knew reeling and comatose. Outwardly it seemed to have little effect on Athos, other than a loosening of his posture and slight slur to his speech when he pressed another note on Porthos and directed him yet again to the bar. His eyes though, were far away and full of pain, and Porthos wasn't convinced that the drink wasn't making it worse.

Finally Athos staggered to his feet, leaning heavily on Porthos' shoulder for a moment. "Need to piss," he muttered, and lurched across the bar, bracing himself on pillars and brickwork but weaving between the tables and people without once knocking into anyone.

Porthos stared with vague anxiety at the entrance to the gents until he appeared again, leaning in the doorway and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. Porthos wondered if he'd thrown up, and rather hoped he had given the volume he'd consumed.

Athos was looking around absently, as if trying to recall where he'd been sitting, and Porthos gathered up their jackets and headed over to him.

"Come on. Time to go home," he murmured, and slipped an arm around Athos' waist. It came naturally now, and Athos blinked at him curiously. For a moment Porthos thought he was going to object, but then Athos gave in and leaned against him, as if surrendering himself into Porthos' care.

Porthos draped Athos' jacket around his shoulders and carefully guided him out of the door. "Where do you live?"

Athos mumbled the name of a suburb miles out on the edge of the city and Porthos sighed. "What you want to live out there for? Suppose it'll have to be a cab then." 

He helped Athos along the street towards the nearest taxi rank, but when they got there the drivers took one look at Athos and to a man refused to have him anywhere near their upholstery in case he threw up.

Porthos sighed. "Guess you're coming home with me then." He lead Athos the short distance to his flat and helped him off with shoes and top shirt before settling him into his bed. 

Athos was asleep - or unconscious - practically before Porthos had pulled the duvet up over him and Porthos sighed, gazing down at him and resisting the urge to press a kiss to Athos' cheek.

\--

In the morning, Porthos ventured in with a pint glass of water and found Athos sitting up and looking confused.

He saw Porthos and sighed. "Oh. Hello. I did wonder where I was, I should have guessed." 

"Here." Porthos held out the glass and Athos took it, downing half of it thirstily.

"Did we fuck?" Athos sounded barely curious, and Porthos bridled.

"No. I slept on the couch. And in case you hadn't noticed, you're still half dressed." He sat on the edge of the bed tiredly. "Do you really think I'd take advantage of you in that state?"

Athos actually looked shamefaced. "No. You're right. I'm sorry."

Porthos smiled at him, surprised and disarmed by the apology. "How do you feel?"

"Physically or emotionally?" Athos asked dryly.

"Physically?"

"Not as bad as I deserve to, given the amount I drank."

"And emotionally?" Porthos ventured.

Athos hesitated. "Dead inside. Business as usual, really."

"That's not true."

"No offence, but you know fuck all about me."

"I know you're not dead inside. If you were, you wouldn't care," Porthos said quietly. 

Athos looked away. "I should go," he said.

"Stay. Sleep it off." Porthos stood up, and Athos after a moment's hesitation and finding that movement made the room sway sickeningly, settled back down.

"Maybe another five minutes. Or maybe I could just stay here for the rest of my life," he muttered, feeling overwhelmingly like he wanted to hide from the world. 

Porthos smiled. "You're very welcome to."

Athos looked startled as he realised how his words could be taken, then conceded a smile. "You don't give up, do you?" he said softly.

"Never could take a hint." Porthos smiled down at him. "I won't push it though. Not right now. You get some sleep. I promise you don't owe me anything."

"Out of interest, what _am_ I doing in your bed?" Athos murmured.

"None of the cab drivers would take you home, in case you threw up."

Athos made a face. "Did I?"

"Not that I know of. You might have in the pub." 

Athos' only reply was a groan, and to bury his face in the pillow.

Porthos smiled and went out, closing the door quietly. 

As he came back into the living room he heard a buzzing noise and traced it to Athos' jacket. Fishing out his mobile phone, the display read _Aramis_ and after a second's hesitation Porthos picked up.

"Hello?"

"Athos?" Aramis sounded confused.

"No, it's Porthos."

"Oh. _Oh._ I see."

"Doubt it," Porthos laughed. "Nah, it's not like that. He's just sleeping off a skinful."

"Is he okay?"

"Physically? Yeah." Porthos sighed. He wasn't so sure about Athos' emotional state.

"Good. Did he - did he tell you about d'Artagnan?"

"Yeah. All of it. I guess you've heard?"

"I saw Treville. Why the hell didn't he tell me?"

"Couldn't bring himself to. He's convinced it's all his fault."

"Nobody blames Athos. Not even Treville." Aramis sighed.

"He blames himself. Critics don't come any harsher than your own head, do they?"

"Is there anything I can do?"

"Got a car? He could probably do with a lift home in a bit. Seems to live miles out."

"Yes, he does. Okay. Did you say he was asleep? I'll be there in a couple of hours then. And - thanks. For looking after him. He needs someone as stubborn as he is, you're good for him."

Porthos gave a low laugh. "Not sure he sees it like that."

"He let you stay." Aramis had a smile in his voice. "If you know Athos, that speaks volumes."

\--

When Athos emerged, looking pale and hollow-eyed but slightly stronger than he had the night before, Porthos gave him a beaming smile.

"Hey you. Feeling better? Want some breakfast?"

"Oh God no." Athos went, if anything, even paler. "Thanks for the offer though," he added, realising it might have sounded ungrateful.

Porthos' door buzzer went at that point, and Athos looked wary. "Sorry, are you expecting company? I'll be off."

"I'm guessing this is for you," Porthos told him, and ignoring Athos' look of bafflement, went to let Aramis in.

When Athos saw him he looked immediately guilty and trapped, but Aramis smiled at him with exasperated affection. 

"Why didn't you tell me you idiot?" 

Athos shook his head. "I couldn't. I'm sorry. I didn’t mean to lie to you, I just - I - "

"It's okay. Hey, it's okay." Aramis folded Athos into his arms and hugged him tight, and Porthos was both glad and deeply jealous to see the way Athos easily hugged him back.

"Have you heard anything?" Athos asked, voice muffled by Aramis' shoulder.

"Treville called the hospital this morning. Not much news but they're apparently cautiously hopeful."

Athos sagged in his arms, and Aramis squeezed him, then let him go. "Come on, buck up. Going about with a face like a wet weekend's not going to help d'Artagnan."

Athos gave him a rueful smile and Aramis laughed. "You ready to go home? I'm your chauffeur today apparently."

"Oh. Right." Athos looked round for his jacket, then glanced at Porthos. 

"Thanks. For - last night. I guess you can see now why I'd be a dead loss. Consider this your lucky escape." He gave him a bleak smile and walked out before Porthos could protest. 

Aramis looked at him, rolled his eyes over-dramatically and followed Athos out.

Porthos closed the door softly, and after a second, despite everything, found he was smiling.

\--

The next few days dragged past, and Porthos found himself in a conflicted frame of mind. He'd heard nothing from anyone, and wished he'd taken down Aramis' phone number. He hoped d'Artagnan was okay. He hoped _Athos_ was okay. More than once he decided to go down to the fire station, only to change his mind again. He'd promised Athos he wouldn't push things for a while, and was afraid that if he turned up it would give the wrong impression.

Then one Saturday afternoon about a week later, he walked out of his front door and straight into Athos. 

Athos looked flustered at his unexpected appearance, and Porthos greeted him in surprise.

"Hello. Were you coming to see me?"

"Yes. Well. Actually I've been standing here for about ten minutes trying to make my mind up," Athos confessed, looking embarrassed. 

"Come in," Porthos invited, starting to dig his keys out again, but Athos stopped him.

"No, no, it's fine, I can see you're on your way out. I just - I thought you'd like to know that d'Artagnan's going to be alright."

"Oh thank God." Porthos stared at him. "You must be so relieved."

Athos nodded. "You have no idea," he murmured.

"Are _you_ alright?" Porthos asked. Athos looked dog tired, and he suddenly found himself hoping Aramis had hugged him when they'd heard the news.

Athos nodded. "Fine. Really. At least, I will be now." He hesitated. "That was the other reason I came. I wanted to say thank you. For the other night."

"I didn't really do anything," Porthos protested, but Athos smiled wearily at him.

"You stayed," he said softly. "And you cared. I didn't want you to think that I don't appreciate it."

Porthos smiled at him. "Look, I've just got to pick up a few bits and pieces in town. Why don't you come with me, let me buy you a coffee?"

Athos looked at his watch and Porthos assumed he was going to make an excuse and say no, but to his surprise Athos nodded. "Alright. But I'm buying."

They walked the short distance to the nearest row of shops and settled down at a table in the cafe as a cold rain shower began to spatter at the windows. 

"I offered to resign you know," Athos murmured, after they'd sat in companionable silence for a while. 

"What?" Porthos looked up at him, startled. He knew Athos had taken it hard, but he hadn't realised it had come to that.

Athos gave a rueful smile. "Treville wouldn't accept it," he admitted. "And d'Artagnan threatened to punch me from his hospital bed if I offered again."

"Good," Porthos said feelingly. "What did Aramis say?"

Athos looked amused. "Oh, Aramis just called me a twat." 

"You and Aramis have been doing this for a while, eh?" Porthos ventured. 

"Years. We started at about the same time. At first I thought we were going to hate each other. I considered him too loud and frivolous and sex obsessed. He found me dull and disapproving." Athos smiled. "Somehow though, we clicked. As time went by we found we trusted each other, understood each other. Maybe better than anyone else ever had."

"You must be very close."

Athos gave him a slight smile. "Jealous?" he teased.

Porthos laughed. "Maybe."

"You've got no reason to be." Athos seemed to realise what he'd said and flushed slightly. "I mean, Aramis is strictly into girls," he amended quickly. 

"He's the only person who gets to hug you though," Porthos couldn't help saying.

"He's the only one who tries."

Porthos looked mournfully at him, and Athos looked back, reading the intention in Porthos' eyes a fraction of a second after the impulse occurred to him. Porthos made a lunge and Athos pushed his chair back in the same instant, holding a hand up and laughing. 

"Not here. Please."

Porthos sat back, grinning. "Does that imply I can hug you later then?"

Athos didn't reply, but the fact he hadn't said no made Porthos' grin widen.

"Look, why don't you come back home with me?" Porthos suggested hopefully. "Spend the afternoon watching crap TV. Unwind a bit. We could stick a pizza in."

Athos smiled, looking away. "Tempting," he confessed.

"Say yes then."

"I can't." Athos sighed. "I'm due on shift in twenty minutes."

"Come by afterwards then," Porthos urged. Athos looked at him consideringly.

"It would be late," Athos said quietly. "Gone midnight."

"Doesn't matter," Porthos said immediately, astonished by the fact that Athos was even considering it.

Athos nodded slowly. "Alright. If you're sure?"

\-- 

In the event it was closer to one in the morning when Porthos' door buzzer jerked him out of a doze. He stumbled out into the shared hall, fumbling for the light and then the door handle.

Athos was on the step, looking exhausted. He smiled, but there was a wariness to it, as if not entirely sure of his welcome, and Porthos couldn't help himself, as Athos stepped over the threshold he enveloped him in a full-body hug.

As his brain caught up with his instincts, Porthos was prepared for Athos to pull away, but instead, after the first second of frozen surprise, he hugged back.

For a moment they held each other tightly, and Porthos was just starting to worry that Athos must be feeling unbelievably rough to accept such unlooked-for comfort, when abruptly the light went out, plunging them into darkness. 

Porthos swore, groping for the control near the door.

"Sorry, stupid thing's on a timer. Come inside." He lead Athos into the flat, and got a good look at him for the first time. If Athos had looked tired earlier in the day, now he looked dead on his feet, and there was a smudge of dirt across his cheek.

"You okay?"

Athos nodded wearily. "Rough night," was all he said, making it clear he didn't want to expand on it. 

Porthos frowned. It had occurred to him once, lying awake in the small hours, that if Athos hadn't been looking right at Charon's window at that one particular moment, or made the split second decision to come in after him, it could easily have been his charred corpse that Athos pulled out of the building. And then wondered how often that kind of thing happened during the course of his job.

"You must see a lot of crap in your line of work."

"You could say that." There was a heaviness behind Athos' eyes that hadn't been there before, and Porthos resisted the urge to pull him into another hug. They were standing just inside the door, still close together and it would have been easy, but he wasn't yet confident that it would be welcomed. 

"Is everyone alright?" Porthos asked, suddenly anxious. It would be too cruel if another member of the team had been hurt so soon after d'Artagnan. But Athos nodded.

"The crew, yes, they're okay." Leaving the implication hanging that maybe there were others less fortunate, and Porthos frowned.

"They should give you counsellors to talk to about this stuff," he said.

Athos shrugged. "They're available, if you so choose."

"Let me guess, you prefer to self-medicate with alcohol?" 

"I didn't come here to be criticised," Athos protested, but while his voice was tired, his eyes were amused rather than defensive. Porthos speculatively reached out and smoothed a stray lock of Athos' hair back from his face. Athos didn't flinch.

"What _did_ you come here for then?" Porthos murmured, closing the gap between them and smiling suggestively.

"Someone promised me pizza."

"I'd better put the oven on then, eh?" Porthos made no move to do so, still standing in front of Athos, gazing intently into his eyes. Athos held his gaze, and for a second they just looked at each other.

The kiss was sudden, and passionate. In the end it was Athos who kissed him, although Porthos was already leaning forward to meet him. Their mouths came together with warm intent, lips already parting in anticipation and they pressed together, all pretence at restraint gone.

There was no space to think, to worry, to breathe. Porthos was hard in seconds, taken too much by surprise to give a thought to controlling his body's reactions, and was fairly sure Athos was just as hard.

When they finally broke off, panting and both a little stunned, Porthos left his arms around Athos, keeping him close.

"Maybe we should skip the pizza," Porthos murmured against Athos' mouth, as he kissed him again, savouring the moment.

"Are you kidding? I haven't eaten for hours," Athos objected with a smile, kissing him back without hesitation.

Porthos took him by the hand, leading him over to the kitchenette and turning the oven on, fetching out pizza from the freezer and plates from the cupboard all with one hand.

Athos gave a quiet laugh. "You know, you could do all that a lot more easily if you let me go."

"No chance. You might run away," Porthos grinned.

"I promise I won't. I'm too tired to run anywhere," Athos sighed.

Porthos immediately slipped his arms around Athos' waist and kissed him again, still marvelling at the fact Athos was letting him. "Would you like a drink?"

"Wouldn't say no."

"Red wine okay?"

"Perfect."

Porthos took a bottle out of the cupboard and fetched two glasses. He'd bought it against what had at the time been the remote possibility of Athos ever being convinced to come round, and now was glad he had. Not knowing what Athos liked, he'd taken Aramis' joking suggestion of claret at face value and bought that - paying far more than he would have for himself, but staring blankly at the range of Bordeaux wines on offer and still having no idea if it was good enough.

In any case Athos accepted it gratefully and took two large swallows before leaning back against the counter with a sigh.

"Better?" Porthos smiled, and he nodded.

"Thank you," Athos said softly. "For everything."

Porthos drew him in for another kiss, deciding he might as well take advantage of it while Athos was in an amenable mood. Athos leaned against him afterwards and Porthos held him close, feeling vaguely guilty that this was obviously less about Athos being in a good mood than feeling low and vulnerable. He took comfort from the fact that it was hopefully helping, and that Athos was quite capable of telling him to stop if he changed his mind.

They ate the pizza sitting side by side on the sofa, and finished the wine between them. Afterwards, Porthos put an arm around Athos' shoulders and settled them more snugly together.

Athos watched him in silence, and didn't object when Porthos leaned in to kiss him once more.

"Is this okay?" Porthos whispered, even though by now Athos' arms were round his neck, and there were soft lips against his throat.

"Yes," Athos breathed, and it was enough. 

They kissed for a long time, equally fierce and gentle, eager and slow. They ended up tangled together lying flat on the couch, the fact they were fully dressed doing nothing to disguise the fact they were fully aroused.

Porthos took a chance. "Did you want to go to bed?" he offered softly, kissing Athos beneath the ear and biting him gently on the ear lobe.

"I should really go home," Athos sighed, looking at the clock.

"Well you've drunk too much to drive anywhere," Porthos pointed out. "Stay?"

"It's not fair on you."

"How'd you work that out?"

"Because I can't tell if I'm - if I'm only here because I've had a bad night," Athos confessed.

"Athos. If you want to use me? To forget for a while? I don't mind." Porthos took his hands, looking seriously into his eyes. "We're both adults. I want this. And if you do too then - where's the harm?"

Athos finally nodded, and whispered his surrender. "Alright. Yes. _Yes._ "

They fell onto Porthos' bed, stripping off clothes quickly and without ceremony, in too much haste to take the time to undress each other. 

Naked, they crawled under the duvet for warmth, reaching for each other without hesitation. Both were blatantly hard, and Porthos groaned with pleasure as Athos pressed against him. 

They kissed until they were dizzy with it, lips mapping warm skin when they weren't locked mouth to mouth, tasting, sucking, teasing. 

Charon had never been that into prolonged bouts of kissing and Porthos had sometimes wished he was more affectionate, but to his joy and slight surprise Athos seemed to enjoy it as much as he did. Certainly Athos was more than willing to take the time for this mutual exploration of each other, there was no impatient rush towards the mere mechanics of the act.

Soon though, the question of whether they were going to go all the way was one that had to be answered if they intended to do something about it before their current state of arousal meant they just came all over each other, whether by accident or design.

Porthos, currently sprawled on top of Athos and rubbing insistently against him in a way that was making Athos produce some very entertaining noises, nuzzled a kiss into his neck, and then looked at him beseechingly.

"Athos. Will you fuck me?"

For a second Athos looked surprised, as if he'd been expecting Porthos to want the opposite, but he nodded. "If that's what you'd like?"

"If you do?"

Athos nodded again, kissing him with a smile, and Porthos wrapped his arms around him gleefully, rolling them over until Athos was on top.

For a while they continued in the same vein in the new position, until Porthos wriggled free, one hand clamped around his cock in an effort not to embarrass himself while he pulled open the bedside drawer.

As he did so it belatedly occurred to him that when he'd bought condoms and lube at the same time as the wine, stashing them in the nightstand rather than the bathroom cabinet might not have been the brightest idea he'd ever had. He'd left them in the chemist's bag, and it looked exactly like what it was - that he'd been hoping for sex.

"Someone's been shopping." There was laughter in Athos' voice as he leaned over Porthos' shoulder to peer into the drawer.

Porthos turned to look at him, mortified and searching for an explanation that wouldn't either sound like he'd deliberately set out to seduce him, or suggest that he was sleeping with anyone else. 

Athos came to his rescue, reading Porthos' embarrassment in his face and laying a finger on Porthos' lips before he could blurt out excuses.

"I don't mind," Athos whispered. "It's alright. I know you've wanted this. What's the point in being shy about it?"

Relieved, Porthos kissed the tip of his finger, making Athos smile. He sucked the finger into his mouth, shifting closer and then relinquishing it in favour of Athos' lips.

As they folded back into each other's arms, Porthos deliberately slid his erection along the length of Athos', nudging the tip deliberately against the head of Athos' cock over and over until Athos was leaking pre-come and biting his lip for control.

Breathless, Athos snatched the condoms from his hand and hastily pushed Porthos back against the pillows. "Are _trying_ to make me lose it?" he asked, half-laughing as Porthos grinned up at him unashamedly.

"Maybe?" Porthos laughed. "You have entirely too much restraint."

"Shut up and spread your legs," Athos retorted, rolling on a condom. Porthos did as he was told, laughing harder, and Athos glanced up at him with a dirty smirk.

"Not wishing to be indelicate," Athos said, looking round and picking up the lube. "But how much prep do you need?"

Porthos snorted. "Way I feel right now you could bend me over backwards and take me with a lick and a prayer."

Athos smiled at the image. "And in non-porno-land?"

Porthos shrugged, pulling Athos down for a kiss. "Well it ain't exactly my first rodeo, but it has been a while," he admitted.

"Okay." Athos kissed him back, nodding understanding. "Tell me if I go too fast, yeah?" he murmured.

Porthos gazed up at him as Athos' slick fingers worked between his legs, and wondered if this was what love felt like. 

When Athos finally pushed slowly inside him, it was with a tender care that Porthos was entirely unaccustomed to and he gave such a shaky sigh that Athos paused, concerned he was hurting him.

"Okay?" he breathed. "Too much?"

Porthos shook his head quickly. "No. Don't stop. Fuck, Athos, I - " he stuttered to a halt, but Athos took him at his word and thrust the rest of the way in. Porthos leaned up to kiss Athos on the mouth, and Athos shifted position so he could maintain the kiss as he started to move inside him.

They rocked together, breath hitching in spikes of sharp pleasure, Porthos' aching cock trapped between them, rutting against Athos' stomach. It was everything Porthos had dreamed it would be and infinitely more; he'd never anticipated Athos' outwardly withdrawn persona might hide such a passionate and generous lover and he never wanted this to end.

Inevitably it had to, their urgent thrusting slowing with their stamina finally spent, sweat-stained hair falling in Athos' eyes as he kissed his way along Porthos' collarbone. He felt Porthos finally shudder to orgasm beneath him, hot wetness spurting between their joined bodies. Athos let himself follow suit, closing his eyes as he rode out his climax, and feeling Porthos press kisses to every bit of skin he could reach.

Afterwards they lay in each other's arms, pleasantly worn out but not yet ready for sleep. 

"Was that alright?" Athos couldn't help asking, after they'd lain in quiet reflection for some time.

Porthos blinked at him in surprise. "More than alright," he smiled. "I'd go as far as fucking spectacular."

Athos gave a huff of laughter, resting his head on Porthos' chest. "That's alright then. I was just thinking - you've been after this for weeks. I'd hate to be a let down."

Porthos pulled Athos up again so he could kiss him sternly. "I'm not even going to dignify that with an answer," he said. "That was the best sex I've ever had. And I'm not even kidding."

Athos settled down again looking rather happier, but left to his own thoughts there was still something haunting him, and after a while he sighed deeply.

To Porthos' sharp ears it sounded preoccupied rather than content, and he hugged him.

"So. You want to talk about it?"

"About what?"

"Whatever it is that's on your mind. Your bad night."

"Not sure you'd want to hear it."

Porthos rested his head against his. "Talk to me Athos. You really look like you need to."

Athos was quiet for a while. "We were called out as support to another station, off our patch. We were a secondary team, just back up, but by the time we got there - well, it was too late to be of any use. Too late for the first appliances on the scene too I would guess. It was a house fire. Must have ripped through it in minutes." 

Athos fell quiet again, lost in thought, and Porthos stroked his arm. "Someone died?" he guessed.

"They all died. A whole family. Four people, gone in an instant." Athos shook his head, his voice tight. "It's not even like I actually saw anything. Not like that. Just - knowing there was nothing we could do." He pulled away from Porthos' arm a little and sat up, hunched over his knees. 

"Sometimes - sometimes there's nothing that could have been done to prevent it, you know? But sometimes there is something, some small stupid thing, like putting out a cigarette properly or checking a smoke alarm, and lives don't need to be lost, and it makes me so - _angry_." 

He didn't look angry, he looked on the verge of tears, and Porthos pulled him back into his arms.

"It's alright," he soothed.

"It's not alright," Athos mumbled against his neck, and Porthos hugged him close.

"I mean - it's alright to let go," Porthos murmured. "It's alright not to be alright. I'm here Athos, I've got you. It's okay."

"I'm sorry." Athos' distressed breathing was gradually quietening, and Porthos kissed him. 

"Don't be. Just let me help." 

They lay there, holding onto each other without speaking for a long while. Athos finally broke the silence, and Porthos was glad to hear the underlying tremor had gone out of his voice.

"You know," Athos said quietly, "it's a horrible thing to say, but I'm glad d'Artagnan wasn't there tonight. For his sake."

Porthos squeezed him reassuringly, but it brought to mind something he'd been thinking about, too. 

"What would you say if I told you I'm still considering joining up?" Porthos asked slowly. "I really was serious about it. I know you thought I was just stalking you, but it wasn't only that."

Athos looked troubled. "I'd rather you didn't."

"Even now?" Porthos drew a finger down his chest. "Why?"

Athos took a moment to answer. "Because if anything ever happened to you, I'd always feel it was my fault," he admitted.

"You do know that's daft?"

"I can't help it. That's the way I feel."

"You know, I'd like to meet them in a dark alley one night."

Athos looked confused. "Who?"

"Whoever it was that convinced you you need to bear the weight of the world on your shoulders."

Athos smiled. "I think that was mostly just me, to be fair."

"Oh. Well. I'd certainly like to meet you in a dark alley." Porthos smirked at him. "Outcome might be a bit different though..."

\--

When Porthos woke the next morning and remembered what had happened the night before, he couldn't help a smile spreading across his face. In a way, even though he'd been pursuing Athos for weeks, it had somehow come as a surprise, this abrupt surrendering of Athos' defences and he felt a little guilty knowing the events that had prompted it.

Athos was still asleep beside him, curled towards Porthos, one hand tucked under his cheek. His features were slack and soft in sleep, and Porthos gazed fondly at him, realising how tensely he must hold himself when awake.

He still wasn't sure if this was the start of something, or if Athos was only viewing it as a one night stand, and when Athos showed signs of stirring Porthos looked quickly away, not wanting to be caught watching him.

When he looked back, Athos' eyes were open and fixed on him, and Porthos was relieved when he smiled.

"Morning."

"Morning." Porthos grinned at him. Part of him had been afraid Athos would regret it, but this relaxed and sleepy version of Athos was yet again one he hadn't anticipated. "Sleep well?"

"Yes. Thank you." Athos stretched out a little and yawned, showing no signs of wanting to leave and Porthos' heart soared. 

"Would you like some tea?"

"I'd love some." Athos smiled. "If it's not a bother."

"Anything for you." Porthos told him, and before he could lose his nerve leaned over and kissed Athos quickly on the mouth.

To his relief Athos didn't seem to mind, and Porthos climbed out of bed and went into the bathroom to relieve himself and wash off the dried traces of the night before. There was a robe hanging on the back of the door and he considered whether it would be good manners to put it on. Then decided fuck it, and walked out still stark naked.

He was conscious of Athos watching him cross the room, all bright eyes and tousled hair surrounded by duvet, and Porthos whistled as he made the tea. He heard Athos get up and go into the bathroom, and hoped he wasn't getting dressed. When he came in with the mugs of tea though Athos was back in bed, and, as Porthos found as he climbed in beside him, still naked.

Porthos couldn't resist, but drew him into a kiss that Athos returned with a willing enthusiasm, and they only paused for breath because the tea was getting cold.

"Do you have to work today?" Athos asked.

"Nah. It's Sunday," Porthos pointed out.

"Oh. Yes. I forget other people have normal routines," Athos smiled.

"I works shifts too," Porthos said automatically, and Athos looked at him.

"At a bakery? Oh, I suppose you have like early bread shift and stuff?"

Porthos hesitated. "That sort of thing, yeah. Do you have to work today?" he asked quickly, hoping to change the subject.

"Not until later. On the night shift again."

"So...." Porthos wriggled closer. "We could spend the whole day in bed then?"

Athos looked amused. "We _could_. Is that what you want?" Porthos waggled his eyebrows and Athos actually laughed. "Alright then." He put down his mug and slid down further in the bed. "Why the hell not?"

\--

"Oi. Have you been listening to a word I've been saying?"

Athos jumped as Aramis slapped him round the back of his head and dropped into the seat next to him.

"Sorry. Miles away. What did you say?"

"Never mind. Are you alright?" Aramis peered at him suspiciously. He'd been vaguely worried that Athos would be over-processing the events of the previous day, but he didn't look particularly upset. In fact, for Athos, he looked suspiciously happy.

"What've you been up to anyway?" Aramis probed. "Tried to call you twice this afternoon, not like you not to pick up."

Athos looked at him, debating whether to say anything. "If I tell you, do you promise not to spread it round the entire station in thirty seconds?"

"Promise," said Aramis immediately, dragging his chair closer in hope of gossip. He wasn't disappointed.

"I - spent last night with Porthos," Athos confessed.

Aramis gave a bark of laughter and slapped Athos on the knee. "Got you at last did he? Good for him." He studied Athos' expression, which seemed to be mildly conflicted and frowned. "So come on, spill. Was it good?"

Athos gave a slight nod, and Aramis cackled. "So why aren't you bouncing off the walls with happiness?" he pressed.

Athos sighed. "Am I doing the right thing?"

"He's a nice guy, and for some peculiar reason he likes you. Do you like him?" 

Athos hesitated, then nodded again.

"Well there you are then." Aramis rubbed Athos' shoulder. "You deserve some fun, Athos. Just - go with it. What's the problem?"

"I don't know. I'm just - not very good at relationships," Athos admitted. "I'll fuck it up, I know I will."

Aramis snorted. "Bet Porthos won't let you. Never met anyone more stubborn than you before." Athos stuck his tongue out and Aramis grinned. 

"Seriously. Stop worrying for once. What's the worst that can happen?"

\--

"I hear someone's been a dirty boy?"

Athos looked round in surprise to find Constance winking at him. He sighed, and glared at Aramis, who looked innocent. 

"What?"

"You promised."

"I promised not to spread it round the station in thirty seconds," Aramis clarified. "Took me at least ten minutes to tell everyone." He grinned and slapped Athos on the back. "Come on, you know you only told me so you didn't have to tell anyone else."

It was just gone midnight and their shift had just finished. Athos pulled on his coat and stepped out into the cold, shivering slightly. He was still wearing yesterday's clothes, and he should probably go home - except - he'd made a promise. 

\--

"Athos!" Porthos pulled open the door and immediately pounced on him. Athos suffered the bear-hug with good humour, and the kiss that followed with rather more enthusiasm.

"How'd it go?" Porthos lead him into the flat, and Athos realised with slight surprise that he could already feel himself relaxing.

"Okay. Quiet night. No calls." Athos slipped off his coat and somehow found himself back in Porthos' arms.

"Good." Porthos kissed him intently. "You hungry?"

"I can't keep begging food off you," Athos protested. Porthos fixed him with a look.

"I said, are you hungry?" 

Athos sighed and nodded and Porthos smiled at him. "Right. I made stew, I'll heat some up for you."

Porthos set it in front of him and then sat opposite watching him eat it in fond silence. Athos finally put down his spoon and stared back at him with a tolerant sigh.

"What?"

"Wasn't sure you'd come back," Porthos murmured after a second.

Athos opened his mouth then closed it again. Stretched out his left hand to take hold of Porthos' on the table top. 

"Well. Here I am," he said, picking up the spoon in his right and starting to eat again.

Porthos folded Athos' hand between both of his and smiled. "Here you are."

When Athos had finished and pushed the bowl away with a grateful smile, Porthos raised an eyebrow. "So. Staying the night?"

Athos gave a low laugh. "You spent all last night and most of today in bed with me."

"Your point being? There are still bits of you I haven't explored yet," Porthos grinned.

"Fair enough." Athos let Porthos pull him to his feet. "I'll have to go home tomorrow morning though. If I turn up in the same clothes _three_ days running, people will really start to talk."

"Did you tell anyone?" Porthos asked idly, leading him by the hand into the bedroom.

"Aramis." Athos shook his head. "Which naturally means that now the whole place knows."

"Really?" Porthos looked surprised and Athos frowned. 

"Do you mind?"

"No. No, of course not." Porthos slipped his arm round Athos' waist. "I suppose I just didn't think you'd say."

"I'm not _ashamed?_ " Athos said, a slight query in his voice and Porthos immediately turned back and hugged him.

"Hey. I didn't say you were." 

Athos relaxed a little. "Sorry. Don't mind me. I'm not very good at this."

Porthos kissed him. "I know something you _are_ good at," he smiled. "Why don't we play to your strengths?"

\--

The next couple of weeks were amongst the happiest of Porthos' life. Whilst things never veered close to dangerous words like 'relationship' or 'commitment', somehow Athos was rarely out of his bed.

"D'Artagnan's back at work this week," Athos said one morning, running late for his shift and trying to button up his shirt and finish his tea at the same time. "You should drop in, he'd love to see you."

"He's back already?" Porthos came over and refastened Athos' shirt for him in the correct buttonholes.

"Not on active duty. I think Treville's getting him do about five years' worth of filing."

Porthos looked thoughtful. "I should take him something. Do some baking. What would he like?"

Athos pulled on his coat. "I hate to suggest it, but he'd probably love you forever if you made him chocolate cake."

"Alright." Porthos smiled at him. "I can always make you something else. What would you like?"

Athos kissed him goodbye. "I'd probably settle for a cream horn," he smirked, and Porthos' laughter followed him all the way out of the front door.

\--

True to his word, as soon as Blue Watch were on an evening shift again Porthos accompanied Athos down to the fire house and was touched by the welcome he received. More than one member of the crew slapped him on the back, and he gradually realised it had less to do with the appearance of cake than the fact he was tacitly understood to be making Athos happy. 

D'Artagnan was sitting at a table working on some kind of poster. His hair was cut shorter than Porthos had ever seen it and when he turned round, even though Athos had warned him Porthos still struggled not to do a double take when he saw his face. His nose, chin and one cheek was a mass of healing scabs and raw skin, and he would obviously bear scars afterwards.

Despite this, d'Artagnan gave Porthos a cheerful grin when he saw him. "Pretty, huh?" he asked, gesturing at himself theatrically.

"I've seen worse," Porthos lied, smiling back.

"He's screwing Athos for a start," Aramis declared, then ducked a second too late as Athos slapped him round the head. "Ow!"

"See they've given you a less hazardous job," Porthos said, nodding at the poster materials in front of him. "Hope they've given you plastic scissors and all."

D'Artagnan laughed. "They've stuck me on the schools rota. To be fair nothing says fire safety like a man who looks like his face is about to fall off."

"Bit horrific for the little ones isn't it?" Porthos said without thinking, then could have bitten his tongue off as Aramis glared at him. 

D'Artagnan didn't seem to see anything wrong with the description though and just laughed. "Are you kidding? They love it. Gruesome little fuckers." He held up his poster. "What do you think? Constance is helping me with them."

"I think you could be the next Picasso mate."

D'Artagnan looked critically at his artwork, trying to determine if Porthos had meant it was all wonky.

They left him to go and brew up tea to go with the cake Porthos had made, and while they were waiting for the kettle to boil Porthos looked back over at d'Artagnan with a troubled smile.

"He seems to be keeping positive. That's good I guess."

"To be honest he was more upset about the fact he singed off a chunk of his hair," Aramis joked. "No, he's doing very well. And Constance is keeping an eye on him, although he hasn't realised it yet. It was her idea to put him on the school visits thing, keep him occupied. If he ever looks like he might be slipping into a bit of a funk about it all, she slaps him and gives him something to do for her."

"He's currently pissed off with me because I won't let him come back on active duty yet," Athos murmured. "He thinks I'm being over protective." He sighed. "Maybe I am."

Aramis shook his head. "Treville agrees with you. Everyone agrees with you, come to that. He shouldn't rush into it, he's still being treated for one thing." He patted Athos on the shoulder. "Don't worry, you know we'll soon tell you as soon as we disagree with you."

Athos snorted and looked at Porthos in mock despair. "See what I have to put up with?"

\--

Porthos was getting dressed for work the next morning when Athos stuck his head blearily out of the covers and peered at him. "Time is it?" he mumbled.

"Seven. Go back to sleep." 

Athos' team had been called out right at the end of their shift, meaning Athos hadn't crawled into bed with him until gone four AM. Porthos was glad he'd given him a key.

"I could give you a lift to work if you want?" Athos was sitting up and yawning.

Porthos shook his head. "I'm fine on the bus. You get some rest."

"I'll just stay here and think of you then."

"No wanking in my sheets, yeah?" Porthos said sternly, then grinned. "Not until I'm here to watch, anyway."

"You know," Athos stifled another yawn, making himself comfortable amongst the pillows. "We were saying last night. We should come and buy from your place. We get through quite a lot of cake between us, and the stuff you make's amazing."

Porthos busied himself lacing up his boots. "It's not really central," he muttered. "Bit out of your way."

"Well, between us we cover quite an area," Athos persisted. "Seriously, where is it? You've never said."

"You've never said where you work, come to that," Porthos objected, trying to deflect the question. It occurred to him that despite spending nearly all their downtime together recently, neither of them ever really talked about themselves much.

"You know where I work," said Athos, looking confused.

"No, I mean - do you do anything else? Like, Constance is a primary school teacher and Aramis works for the Red Cross." Most of the crew had a second job, and between the two of them their shift patterns were random enough that Athos could easily have been going to one - although it was only now really dawning on Porthos that Athos had never mentioned anything. 

"Not really. The brigade's pretty much it for me," Athos told him. "I have a few investments, that bring in enough to top up my income."

"Oh. Investments, is it?" Porthos sat on the edge of the bed and smirked at him. "Does that make you a bit of a banker?"

Athos smiled at him. "Something like that. So - you were saying where you worked?"

"Does it matter?" Porthos' face fell a little and Athos frowned. 

"Well no, of course not. I'm just not sure why it's a big secret?"

Porthos fidgeted. "It's out on an industrial estate, okay?" he muttered. "Hardly convenient to drop in on."

"There's a bakery on an industrial estate?"

Porthos wouldn't meet his eyes. "It's - more of a warehouse," he admitted, then sighed. "We make mass-produced cakes and stuff for supermarkets. It's a factory, okay? I work on a production line," he blurted, looking downcast and embarrassed.

Athos put a hand over his and tilted Porthos' face up to look at him with the other. "What's wrong with that?" he asked softly.

"Nothing," Porthos said defensively, then stared at him wretchedly. "I just - I told you I worked in a bakery."

"Well it sounds like you do."

"I work on the packaging line," Porthos confessed, and looked so miserable that Athos laughed and put his arms round him.

"Oh Porthos." He hugged him tightly. "Did you really think I'd care?"

Porthos gave a choked laugh and buried his face in Athos' hair. "It's just - you have such a glamorous job, and - "

"Glamorous?" It was Athos' turn to laugh. "Trust me, it's ninety percent waiting around, and nine percent frantic activity generally followed by an anti-climax." He kissed Porthos on the mouth. "Less than one percent glamorous rescuing of attractive men," he whispered.

Porthos laughed out loud, looking happier, and Athos smiled. "Besides, sounds like your job is far more of a service to the community than mine. Only bits of it catch fire, but all of it needs cake."

Porthos gave him a grateful squeeze and stood up, feeling that if he didn't leave now he was going to do something stupid like telling Athos that he loved him. 

"I'd better be off, or I'll miss the bus," he said. "See you later, yeah?"

Athos nodded. "I'm not working for the next couple of nights. We could go out for dinner or something?" He smiled. "I need to repay all these homecooked suppers somehow, and I'm a terrible chef."

"Yeah, okay," Porthos agreed. "Maybe after we could go back to yours? I've still not seen it."

He kissed Athos goodbye and hurried out the door to catch the bus, missing the suddenly rather anxious expression on Athos' face.

\--

The next night Athos took Porthos to a restaurant he'd booked. As they walked in, Porthos looked round nervously at the expensive looking fittings and stuck close to Athos, feeling out of place.

"Think I'm a bit under-dressed," he muttered self-consciously. He had a smart blue shirt and casual jacket on, but a lot of the clientele seemed to be in black tie.

Athos looked round in surprise. "You look gorgeous," he smiled. 

Porthos smiled back gratefully. "Doesn't count if you're picturing me without my clothes on," he whispered, as a waiter lead them to their table.

"If I was doing that we'd never have made it out the flat," Athos whispered back, and Porthos relaxed a little, feeling better. 

His happier mood lasted as long as it took for him to pick up the menu, and he stared at it in dismay.

"See anything you fancy?" Athos asked, finding Porthos' foot under the table with his own and resting their ankles together.

Porthos was too preoccupied to rise to the suggestive tone in the question, and looked up helplessly. "I don't even know what half this stuff means," he said in an undertone.

Athos leaned over the table. "Well that's basically just lamb cutlets - roast pork - steamed chicken - " he moved his finger down the list, reading upside down. He smiled reassuringly. "It's good food here, they just dress it up in poncy language so they can stick a few quid more on the bill."

That made Porthos look at the prices and he nearly choked. "Christ. I'd have to work for a week to afford some of these courses."

Athos reached out and took his hand. "Well this is my treat. Have whatever you like."

"Will you order for me?" Porthos pleaded, feeling lost, and intimidated by the hovering waiter in a way he wouldn't have been in the roughest pub in town.

"Well I was going to have the steak?" Athos suggested, and Porthos nodded gratefully. 

"Sounds good."

Athos looked at him. "If you don't like it here we can go somewhere else?" he offered.

"No, really, it's fine." Porthos mustered a smile, touched both by the offer, and the fact that Athos was still holding his hand in full view of the restaurant.

Athos sighed. "Told you I was no good at dating. Next time you can pick where we go."

That made Porthos sit up. "So - we're definitely dating then?" he ventured.

Athos just looked at him steadily and picked up the wine menu without answering, but not before Porthos had caught the smile.

\--

Three courses and coffee later they walked back out into the cold, feeling much too warm and well-fed to notice the biting wind.

"Was it okay?" Athos couldn't help asking.

Porthos felt for his hand and held it as they walked along. "That was the best food I've ever eaten in my entire life," he said feelingly. "And if I have to sell a kidney to take us back there one day I'm thinking it might be worth it."

"Thank God for that," Athos smiled. "Although I'm happy to take you there any time you want if it preserves your organs."

Porthos snorted. "Don't worry, I'll keep the ones you're most attached to." He gave Athos an enquiring glance. "So. Where are we headed then?"

Athos looked shifty. "Well I've drunk a bit much to drive us anywhere," he said vaguely.

"And that wasn't remotely on purpose, I suppose?"

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Porthos sighed. "Nothing. Just that you don't seem especially keen on me seeing your place." He looked sideways at Athos. "I'm starting to think you've got a wife and six kids tucked away out there."

Athos laughed. "God forbid." He shook his head. "No, really, it's fine. We'll go out there tomorrow if that's what you want."

"I just want to see where you live." Porthos stopped walking and pulled Athos into his arms. "I want to know everything about you."

"None of it's very exciting," Athos muttered, but he smiled when Porthos kissed him. 

\--

Keeping to his promise, after lunch the next day Athos drove them out to his house. As they wound through the suburbs the properties they were passing got bigger and more imposing, and Porthos looked around with increasing surprise. It wasn't a part of the city he'd ever had cause to be in before, but he hadn't realised it was quite such an exclusive area.

He mentioned it to Athos, who shrugged. "A lot of them are divided up into flats now," he said and Porthos nodded, although he couldn't help feeling this was on an entirely different scale from his own tiny apartment.

Athos finally pulled onto a gravel drive and stopped outside one of the biggest houses they'd seen yet. 

"Well. This is me," he said, making no move to get out. "Are you sure you want to - "

"Yes." Porthos gave him an exasperated smile. "Stop wriggling out of it. Fair's fair, you've seen my rooms. Now I want to see yours."

Athos gave him an unreadable look, but unbuckled his seatbelt and got out of the car.

Porthos followed him up the steps and waited while Athos unlocked the front door. As they walked into the hall beyond, Athos closed the door behind them and gestured around rather helplessly.

"Well. Make yourself at home."

Porthos looked at him, confused. Then looked around again, at the staircase leading up, the furniture in the hall, the open doors leading off. It still took a good few seconds more for the implication to sink in.

"Is this - all yours then?" Porthos asked hesitantly. Athos nodded, looking more withdrawn and tense than he had for a long time, but Porthos was too taken aback to notice.

"I mean - it's not flats? This whole house is - _yours?_ "

Athos nodded again, then found his voice. "I inherited it," he said quietly. "I grew up here."

Porthos blinked. "Jesus Athos, how much is a place like this even worth?"

Another shrug. "I guess if I fixed it up a bit - maybe a million?"

Porthos almost choked. "You must be - " he swung round to stare at Athos incredulously. "You must be fucking loaded."

"Not really."

"Not really?" Porthos echoed. "The tax and upkeep alone must be - " he tailed off. "Investments, huh? Must be pretty fucking big ones. Because I looked into becoming a fireman remember. I know how much they're paid, and it's fuck all."

"I've got a bit put by," Athos muttered awkwardly, resigned to Porthos' outburst and not having the first idea how to handle it.

Porthos just stared at him. "When were you going to tell me?" he asked flatly. "Why _didn't_ you tell me?" Feeling like he wanted to curl up and die with embarrassment, having been subjecting Athos to his glorified bedsit when he was used to something like this. 

"I was going to," Athos said faintly, but Porthos glared at him, humiliation turning into anger. 

"Really? When, exactly? Because now I come to think back you've been putting me off from coming here for fucking weeks."

Athos looked away. "I didn't want to make you uncomfortable," he said.

"Uncomfortable?" Porthos stared at him. "How fucking patronising is that?" 

For the first time Athos glared back at him, finally stung. "So you're not then? Uncomfortable? You're fine with it all?"

"Yeah. Why wouldn't I be, you stuck up prick?"

"Fine."

"Fine."

They stared at each other, both shaking with tension. They'd never argued, not like this, not for real, with harsh words that left them feeling sick and angry.

Porthos tore himself away, trying to recover the situation. "Let's have a look at the place then," he said, trying to make it sound interested and only succeeding in sounding accusatory. He marched through the first doorway he came to, Athos trailing miserably after.

It was a dining room, holding a huge polished oak table and sideboard, big mirrors in gilt frames making it look bigger than it was, and a stone fireplace. An ornate fencing sword hung on the chimney breast, and Porthos nodded at it.

"Do you know how to use that then?" he joked, trying to lighten the mood.

"I do, actually," Athos replied absently, and Porthos snapped.

"What are you, some kind of millionaire playboy superhero? Is there anything you can't fucking do?" 

Athos stood in the doorway, arms wrapped defensively around himself, watching Porthos with a broken expression. "Make people happy?" he whispered.

There was something so hopeless in his tone that Porthos finally turned to look at him, and saw the misery in his eyes. All the anger drained out of him in an instant, and he stared at Athos with guilty horror.

"Athos. _Athos._ " He closed the gap between them in two strides, and the fact that Athos actually flinched as Porthos opened his arms to him made Porthos want to throw up. He enveloped Athos in a hug tight enough to take his breath away, and after a startled, disbelieving second, Athos tentatively returned it.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." Porthos took a shuddering breath and kissed Athos' hair. "Forgive me, I never meant - Athos, I'm sorry."

Athos was a knot of trembling tension in his arms, but as he took in Porthos' stumbling words, he finally let himself cling to Porthos as hard as Porthos was holding on to him.

"I never meant to patronise you," he breathed. "I'm sorry Porthos, I fucked everything up, I just never knew what to say. I'm so sorry."

Porthos shook his head. "No, _I'm_ sorry. I never realised I had quite such a giant chip on my shoulder." He pulled back and looked Athos in the face, feeling sick all over again as he realised how close Athos was to tears.

"I love you Athos," he blurted, and a second later winced in horror at his own timing. To say it now, when he'd just found out Athos was loaded - how would that look? Bad. It could only look bad. 

But Athos was staring at him with what looked strangely like hope.

"Porthos?" he breathed. "Do you mean that?"

"Yes. God, yes. Every word. I love you." Porthos stared back at him, willing Athos to believe him. 

"I love you too." Athos' lips formed the words, but no sound came out and he swallowed, frowning, about to try again when Porthos' mouth came crashing over his.

The kiss was messy and off centre and had too many teeth involved, but when they pulled back and looked at each other, this time it was like a cloud had been lifted.

They smiled, and at first it was tentative and unsure, but as they held each other's gaze it gradually got broader.

Porthos pulled Athos back into his arms, and this time the kiss was deep and heartfelt, and lasted a long time. When it was over they stayed leaning against each other in a fiercely secure embrace.

"Are we okay?" Athos whispered after a while. Porthos nodded, turning his head enough to kiss Athos on the cheek.

"Always," he whispered back.

"Why don't we just go back to yours?" Athos suggested quietly, after they'd been standing there for a whole minute just holding each other.

Porthos pulled back a little and smiled at him. "Are you kidding? Now I'm here I want the tour." He nudged Athos with a smirk. "Here, there isn't a guide book is there?"

"Oh shut up," Athos protested, but he was smiling. 

Porthos hugged him closer, unwilling to let go yet. "I'm sorry I acted like such a jerk," he sighed. "It was just all a bit of a shock. Why didn't you say something?"

Athos looked helpless. "I couldn't think of a way to put it that didn't sound - I don't know. Awful. I suppose I just hoped you'd be okay with it."

Porthos sighed deeper. "Screwed that up then didn't I?"

"I'll forgive you if you forgive me," Athos murmured, and Porthos kissed him.

"Deal. So - you going to show me around or what? I'm not leaving until I've at least seen your bedroom." Porthos grinned. "I bet you've got curtains round your bed."

Athos snorted. "I have not."

"Bet you have. I bet it's the size of a football field and all."

"It's just a bed," Athos objected, knowing Porthos was winding him up and smiling.

"It's _your_ bed," Porthos corrected, winding his arms around Athos' waist again. "And I want to fuck you in it."

When they finally disentangled themselves Porthos still insisted on exploring, wandering through the ground floor rooms with his hand planted firmly in Athos'. They ended up in the kitchen, and Porthos gave an impressed whistle.

"Wow. Wish I had a kitchen like this."

Athos rested his head on Porthos' shoulder. "Feel free to make it your own. I told you, I'm a rubbish cook, it barely gets used."

"Just for wine storage, huh?" Porthos laughed, seeing a well-stocked rack against one wall. 

Athos smiled. "Fancy a drink? God knows I could do with one. Pick out a bottle, I'll get the glasses."

Porthos went over to examine the rack and felt his eyes getting wider with each label he looked at. He'd thought the bottles he'd bought had been eye-wateringly priced, but these looked like he'd have had to sell not just his kidneys but possibly his soul to afford them.

"Found one?" Athos asked, coming over to join him. 

Porthos gave a weak laugh. "Some proper top shelf wine, this lot, eh?"

Athos looked wary. "It's just wine. It's nothing special."

"Nothing special?" Porthos blinked at him, the earlier feelings of embarrassment flooding back. "Have I been making you drink utter plonk? You should have said something."

Athos frowned. "Porthos, don't do this. I'll drink anything, I'm not fussy."

"So I have then?" Porthos slumped defeatedly. "Not exactly been keeping you in the manner you've been accustomed to, have I?"

Athos put down the glasses he was holding and took Porthos' hands in his. "Do you know what I've _not_ been accustomed to?" he said quietly. "What I've never had, ever? I've never had someone who cares about me like you do. Never had someone who worries about me, cooks for me, holds me in the night. And believe me, you can't put a price on that. So don't you dare tell me that what you've given me isn't worth more than a couple of mouldy old bottles of wine."

Porthos gaped at him in speechless astonishment for a second, then kissed him hard, grabbed a bottle at random, handed it to Athos and picked up the two glasses. "Right. Come on."

"Where are we going?" Athos asked in surprise.

"To drink it in bed."

"It's only two o'clock in the afternoon." 

Porthos grinned. "So? Let's be decadent. Reckon you can manage that?"

As Athos lead him back out into the hallway and up the stairs, Porthos let his eyes roam around, taking in as much as he could. There were framed photographs hung on the panelling, and he looked with interest to see if there were any of Athos. 

There were no recent pictures of any sort, but tucked in a corner was a faded shot that showed two little boys in bathing trunks on a beach somewhere. Porthos bent over for a closer look. "Hey, is this you?" Athos had never mentioned any family, and he wondered who the other child was.

Athos came back down the steps and pulled him away. "Are you coming or not?" He smiled. "If you want to see me without any clothes on I can give you a much better show than that."

His bedroom turned out to be entirely normal, if anything more modern than the rest of the rooms that Porthos had seen. Athos' bed was definitely larger than his though and Porthos threw himself bodily onto it, grinning.

Athos rescued the glasses from his waving hands and gave him a smile of tolerant amusement. "Am I opening this wine, or what?"

"No. Come here." Porthos reached out for him and Athos allowed himself to be drawn down to the bed. He knelt between Porthos' legs and sprawled forward over him, kissing him warmly. 

It wasn't long before Porthos was hard in his jeans, Athos' fingers rubbing him slowly through the material. He moaned, wordless and eager, trying to push into the touch and loving that it made Athos smile.

"Someone's impatient," Athos whispered, dipping his head to lay kisses inside the collar of Porthos' t-shirt, pulling the neckline down to reach more skin.

"I'll never get enough of you," Porthos told him, sliding his own hand down the front of Athos' trousers and underwear. Athos' cock was hot and hard in his palm, and Porthos stroked him encouragingly until they were both struggling out of their clothes.

"Can I fuck you?" Porthos murmured, and Athos smiled in surprise.

"Of course," he said, kissing Porthos' temple and wrapping his arms round him, enjoying the way Porthos was still groping him shamelessly. 

"You don't mind?" Porthos sounded hesitant, and Athos lay down on the bed, pulling him down on top of him.

"Why would I mind? I'd love you to," Athos promised. It was, in fact, the one thing they hadn't done yet, and he'd come to assume that Porthos just wasn't interested in topping. He felt a twinge of guilt, wondering if he should have offered before now. But Porthos had never seemed shy about asking for anything else he wanted to do.

"Charon didn't - " Porthos broke off, as if realising that talking about your ex in bed with your new lover was hardly the done thing. Athos shook his head slightly.

"Tell me," he murmured. "It's okay."

Porthos sighed. "Charon didn't like me doing it. I mean, he tried it a couple of times, for me, but - he wasn't really into it. I didn't especially mind, I prefer it the other way, anyway. But - yeah."

"Nice to ring the changes occasionally?" Athos smiled, and Porthos nodded gratefully. 

"Exactly."

"Well, I don't mind at all," Athos told him. He privately wondered sometimes whether Charon hadn't been very nice to Porthos. It was nothing overt that he'd said, more just - sometimes his reactions to things. Now he hugged Porthos close, and let his hands skim up the planes of his back, soothing and encouraging all at once.

They made a nest of the bedclothes, giving Athos something to rest back against and taking their time to play, fingers sticky with lube. When Porthos couldn't bear to wait any longer it was Athos who rolled the condom onto him, teasing and kissing him before sprawling back in open-limbed welcome.

Porthos took him with a steady and gentle care, but he stilled when Athos drew in what he took for a pained breath.

"Am I hurting you?" he asked urgently in a low voice, but Athos shook his head, trying to form coherent words.

"God you're big." He hooked the leg that had so far been waving rather randomly in the air around Porthos' buttocks and locked his hands behind Porthos' neck. "Fuck me," Athos pleaded, glorying in the feeling of Porthos so thick and warm inside him, stretching and filling him to the very limit.

Porthos took him at his word and started to move, slow amazement and pleasure spreading over his face as he gradually accepted just how much Athos was loving it. They rocked together in increasing fervour, Porthos losing his initial inhibitions as Athos urged him on, until they were thrusting violently enough to shake the whole bed. 

"Please," Athos gasped, hardly knowing what he was saying, only sensing how close he was to the biggest orgasm of his life. "Please, God, fuck, Porthos."

Porthos could only manage a hoarse laugh in reply, driving into Athos with fierce strokes, blinking sweat out of his eyes. They came within seconds of each other, Athos shaking in his arms, coating both of them with his release.

"God I love you," Athos moaned, clinging to Porthos in desperate adoration and kissing him breathlessly until they were both laughing.

When they'd cleaned up, they lay next to each other in contented exhaustion, drinking the wine and savouring the late autumn sunshine spilling through the window.

Porthos hooked an arm round Athos' shoulders and smiled at him. "When I said I wanted to know everything about you I didn't realise there was so much to find out," he murmured. "Is there anything else I should know, apart from the whole living in a mansion and secretly liking really rough sex thing?"

Athos spluttered with laughter. "Not that I know of. But feel free to ask."

"Really?" Porthos rolled over onto his stomach and looked at him speculatively.

Athos nodded. "Anything you want to know. No secrets, I promise. Not from you."

"Alright. One thing I admit to being curious about. Why did you become a fireman? You told me once it was for a bad reason. Well I know Aramis' story, and d'Artagnan's. What's yours?"

Athos looked uncomfortable. "You know how to pick them, don't you?" he muttered.

"You did promise." Porthos nuzzled him. "You don't have to tell me though. Not if you don't want to."

"It's not a secret," Athos sighed. "It's just not a happy story. Or one that paints me in a particularly good light."

Porthos sat up and hugged him then, and Athos wriggled closer into the safety of his arms before continuing.

"When I was at uni I - well I suppose if you were being trite you'd say I fell in with the wrong crowd. Although I knew well enough what I was doing, if I'm honest. We were full of ourselves. Thought we were going to change the world." Athos gave a bitter laugh. "All we really ever did was lie around in darkened rooms drinking and fucking and snorting enough coke to bolster the entire economy of South America."

He gave an anxious glance up at Porthos who sighed with a certain amount of sympathy. "Been there, done that. Although without the university part, or the big ideals. Funny isn't it, how 'penniless students' has a more romantic ring to it than 'jobless druggies'?"

Athos kissed him, and they clung together for a moment. 

"You got out, though?" Athos murmured.

"Yeah. I got sick of it. Cleaned myself up, got a job. Split up with Charon because of it, but if I'm honest that was probably a good thing. Looking back, it was all getting a bit toxic. And I don't mean the drugs."

"I wasn't nearly so strong willed," Athos sighed. "It took a hell of a shock to make me take a good look at myself." He paused, mustering his thoughts. "My brother had been on at me for ages to sort myself out. Kept telling me I was wasting my life, throwing it away."

"He's the other boy in the picture?" Porthos guessed, and Athos nodded. "You never said you had a brother."

"I haven't." Athos looked away. "He was killed."

"I'm sorry." Porthos hugged him. "Did he - did he die in a fire?"

For a second Athos actually looked amused. "What, do I look like a walking cliché? No, it was a car crash. But it shook me where nothing else had. He was always the family's blue-eyed boy, you know? The one who was expected to make something of himself. And suddenly - he wasn't there any more. He was the only family I had left." Athos reached for the bottle, refilling their glasses with a hand that shook slightly.

"I felt like I had to do something. Really make a difference for once. So I - guess I looked around and settled on the fire service."

Porthos looked at him, suspecting there was still an element to it Athos wasn't admitting.

"Wanting to make a difference, to help people - that doesn't sound like a very bad reason to me," Porthos said. Athos wouldn't meet his eyes, and he sighed. "On the other hand, you could have picked - I don't know. Fundraising for Oxfam. Volunteering at the cats' home. Something safe."

"What are you implying?" Athos demanded, but there was no heat in it.

"Signing up in a fit of guilt-stricken grief for the job most likely to get you killed? Now that _would_ be a bad reason," Porthos ventured.

After a second, Athos gave in. "I thought I'd be dead in weeks," he confessed under his breath. "I didn't especially want to live any more, and there was no-one left who cared whether I did or not. I was drinking too much, not sleeping enough. I took risks, stupid ones. But somehow they all paid off, and I was still standing." 

He smiled slightly. "Then I was transferred to the fire station where I am now. My previous captain refused to take responsibility for me any longer, convinced I was going to wind up getting myself killed." 

"I did wonder how you lived so far away," Porthos murmured. "Thought you were supposed to live a few minutes from the station."

"You are." Athos smiled at him. "On the plus side I'm excused from emergency on call duties."

Porthos snorted. "Jammy git."

Athos laughed quietly. "Treville was the only one willing to give me a chance. Took on Aramis at the same time. Probably still regretting his life choices."

"Somehow I don't think so," Porthos told him. "You two are the pride of the unit. Don't think I haven't noticed."

Athos blushed and concentrated on his wineglass. "I don't know about us. But d'Artagnan'll make captain before he's thirty, you watch." He looked up then, and smiled. "Just don't tell him I said so."

As the daylight faded outside they made love again, this time slow and tender in contrast to their earlier frantic coupling. 

When they were hungry, Porthos raided Athos' store cupboards and produced a meal that they took back to bed with a second bottle of wine, closing the curtains against the night and feeling like they were rediscovering each other over and over again.

\--

The next day they spent a lazy morning over coffee and papers and went out for lunch at a nearby cafe before Athos drove them back into the city centre. They went to Porthos' flat and whiled away the time amiably enough before Athos kissed him goodbye and left for the evening shift.

He'd been gone about ten minutes when the buzzer went and Porthos went out to open the front door, assuming Athos had forgotten something and wondering if he'd lost his key.

Standing on the doorstep though, was someone he hadn't seen for weeks, looking windswept and upset, and he stared at them in surprise for a long moment before finding his voice.

"Flea!"

"Hello Porthos. Aren't you going to invite me in?"

"Yes. Yes, of course, sorry." Porthos stepped back and let her in, gesturing towards the open door to his flat.

As he followed Flea inside, Porthos experienced a fleeting stab of guilt. Since he'd been seeing Athos he'd barely given his other friends a second thought, although now he came to think about it, other than Charon's brief visit it wasn't as if they'd made any attempt to see him either. 

"Drink?" Porthos offered. Flea shook her head, then changed her mind.

"Could I have a cup of tea? I'm so cold." She rubbed her arms, and he noticed she'd kept her coat on, as if to make a swift exit.

Porthos went to fill the kettle, mixed feelings colliding inside him. When he'd split up with Charon, somehow he'd stayed hanging around with them all. They'd been his friends - were still his friends, he reminded himself - and he'd had no reason to distance himself. Now though, with another group to hold up as a comparison, he was seeing their behaviour in a less favourable light.

Flea though - Flea he'd always been close to. There'd even been one night, a couple of years back, drunk and high on God knew what, that he and Charon and Flea had all ended up in bed together. Flea was still the only woman he'd ever had sex with.

With these thoughts swirling in his mind, he handed her a mug of tea and smiled awkwardly.

"So what brings you here?" 

She spooned sugar into her tea and fiddled with the mug for a long time before answering. He'd already guessed this wasn't a social call. Flea was too on edge, perched nervously on the edge of the sofa as if ready to leap up again. 

"There's something you need to know," she blurted finally. "About the fire at the Court."

Porthos' heart sank. 

"You left me in there, didn't you?" he guessed gloomily, sitting down in the chair opposite. "What happened, the alarms went off and everyone panicked? Or did you all forget I was even there?" Thinking back to Charon's nervy behaviour when he'd seen him, the unexpected affection. He'd definitely been acting guilty.

"No!" Flea looked indignant. "Do you really think I would have done that? That I'd have left you in there?"

Porthos frowned. "Alright then, what?"

Flea picked at the tatty fur of her hood. "Charon made us go out to this all-night club. Half of us didn't want to go, it was nearly dawn, we were tired. But he insisted." She flicked a look up at Porthos, and looked quickly away again. "One thing lead to another and - well, we didn't find out what had happened for a couple of days. When we did - it just seemed lucky, you know? That we'd not been there. That he'd made us leave."

"Are you saying he _knew_?" Porthos asked incredulously. "Charon _knew_ there was going to be a fire?"

Flea looked more on edge than ever. "No," she said finally, seeming to come to a decision. "I'm saying he started it."

For a second Porthos could only stare speechlessly. "But - " he stuttered, "but why would he burn down his own home?"

"Money." Flea shrugged. "The people who own the building wanted it gone. Too many tenants not paying up, it was a liability for them. They wanted it gone, and to claim on the insurance."

"But," Porthos objected, still trying to equate his best friend, however flawed, with a man who would commit large-scale arson and endanger his life into the bargain. "But you're saying he wasn't even there. How - ?"

"They gave him something. Timers or some shit, I don't know. Stuff that would burn away, not leave any trace. So he'd have an alibi." She said it impatiently, as if Porthos was slow in grasping the essentials.

Porthos looked at her stonily. "How do you know all this? Were you in on it?"

"No!" Flea stared at him, her expression a mixture of anger and pleading. "I swear Porthos, I'd have had no part in it." She sighed. "Charon got high. He was rambling, saying all this crazy stuff. I think it's been preying on his mind - the fact he nearly got you killed." She shot Porthos an unreadable look. "He still cares about you, you know."

"Funny way of showing it," Porthos muttered. "What I don't get is why you're telling me all this," he sighed. "What purpose does it serve, me knowing now?"

Flea shifted uneasily. "Because he's going to do it again."

"What do you mean, again?" Porthos demanded.

"There's another apartment building. The Old Mill, on Pedlar's Wharf. Same deal, the same owners want it gone."

Porthos looked dubious. "Aren't the insurers going to be a bit suspicious when they get two claims in the space of a few weeks?"

Flea shook her head. "It's owned through another company, maybe even several. They'd never trace it back." She looked miserable. "I don’t know if they've got a hold on Charon because he did the other one, or if it's just about the money. I mean, they gave him a _lot_."

"Enough to be worth going to prison for?" Porthos asked scathingly. "You have to go to the police with this, Flea."

She looked alarmed. "I can't do that!"

Porthos groaned. "Well when's he going to do it? Maybe we can talk him out of it?"

"Tonight. That's where he's gone now. It was the only reason I dared risk coming to see you. You have to do something!"

Porthos glowered. That was typical. Good old reliable Porthos, dump all your problems on him to sort out. He's there to be taken advantage of. He won't complain. People had been using him his entire life, and he was sick of it.

"Fine." He got to his feet, and Flea followed suit. "But this is the last time I'm sorting out his messes. If I do this, I don't want to see him - see any of you, ever again."

Flea nodded sadly, accepting. "I'm sorry Porthos. I really am." She gave him a hug and a kiss on the cheek, and then she was gone.

For a moment Porthos stared blankly at the door, recalling happier times. Then he remembered that time was short, and pulled out his phone. There was only one thing he could think to do.

Athos answered on the third ring.

"Hey you. Everything okay?"

Porthos took a deep breath. "Athos. I have to tell you something. And I need you to believe me, and - I need you to not ask how I know."

There was a startled silence. 

"Sounds ominous."

Porthos gave a choked laugh. "Listen. There's a building down by the river on Pedlar's Wharf, the Old Mill. It's a converted warehouse?"

"I know it."

"Well it's going to catch fire. Tonight. Now."

"What? What are you talking about? How do you - ?"

"Athos, please, don't ask me. I can't tell you. All I can say - I heard it from someone I trust. Can you do something?"

Another silence, as Athos processed his extraordinary words. "Very well. But we are going to talk about this later."

Porthos sighed. "Can't wait."

Athos hung up, and without further prevarication pushed the muster alarm point. 

As the crew assembled, Aramis was the first to his side. 

"Who was that on the phone?" he asked curiously. He'd watched Athos' expression go from pleased to perplexed to worried, and the conversation had clearly been the cause of this unexpected call out. And of the three people he could imagine Athos answering the phone to with a smile, two of them were already in the room.

"Doesn't matter." Athos shook his head, dismissing the question, and briefed the crew quickly. It didn't take long; he didn't know much to tell them.

"Can I come?" begged d'Artagnan.

"No."

" _Please?_ " d'Artagnan protested. "I could be useful. I could organise the people you evacuate, free up more of you to go inside."

Athos considered, then sighed. "Alright then."

"Yes!" d'Artagnan pumped his fist and Athos caught his arm.

"You will give me your word you won't set foot inside the building. Regardless of what happens. Regardless of how safe it may appear."

D'Artagnan rolled his eyes. "I promise."

Athos gave him a hard stare, then finally nodded. "Okay then. Let's go." 

\--

After Porthos had hung up from talking to Athos, he couldn't settle. After pacing the room for five restless minutes, he gave up and grabbed his coat, heading out.

When he reached the river, the building in question was obvious, bathed in the flashing blue lights of two fire engines. The atmosphere was calm and surprisingly quiet, with the people milling around in the car park looking annoyed rather than frightened.

He pushed his way through the crowd, hoping to spot Athos and jumped as a hand grabbed his sleeve.

"Porthos! What are you doing here?"

It was d'Artagnan, smiling at him in cheerful surprise. Porthos realised that Athos must have kept his name out of it, and was grateful.

"Oh, I was just passing," he lied. "Saw the lights, wondered if it was your lot. Athos here?"

"Inside. Electrical fire apparently, started in a service cupboard. Soon dealt with, but they're evacuating everyone anyway, just to be on the safe side, while they check the rest of the building."

Porthos stared up at the facade. One small fire hardly seemed enough to threaten a building of this size and construction. Maybe Charon hadn't tried very hard this time. Or maybe - 

Something Flea had said suddenly came back to him and Porthos' stomach lurched sickly as he realised he hadn't thought to tell Athos. _Timers._

He turned to d'Artagnan urgently. "I think there might be - "

The rest of his words were lost as a series of explosions blew out half the front windows and a roaring conflagration took hold of the building.

"Shit! It must have hit the gas pipes," d'Artagnan shouted over the sudden noise of the crowd, holding up a hand to shield his face from the heat.

After a second of stunned shock, Porthos made to run straight towards the burning entrance, only to be brought up short by d'Artagnan grabbing his coat. He was stronger than he looked.

"Porthos! What the hell?"

"Athos is in there!" 

"Yes, in a flameproof suit and breathing apparatus," d'Artagnan reminded him. "You think he'd forgive me if I let you run in there like that?"

"Can't you go in then?" Porthos pleaded. "He might need help."

D'Artagnan looked conflicted, the same thought clearly having occurred to him. "I gave him my word I wouldn't," he said finally. "If I break that, he'll never trust me again."

"So what do we do?" 

"We wait. And we trust him to do his job. Aramis is in there too, let's not panic until we have to, okay?"

They stared through the smoke in mutual anxiety, until a commotion at the building line proved to be a group of residents spilling out of the main entrance, shielded under blankets and towels and escorted by a fireman in full kit. 

Porthos and d'Artagnan grabbed each other and Porthos' heart thumped painfully, but he'd already realised it was the wrong build to be Athos.

"It's Aramis." D'Artagnan was right, and when he'd given his group over into the care of the two ambulances that had pulled in behind the fire engines, Aramis hurried over.

"Have you seen Athos?" Porthos asked urgently.

Aramis looked surprised to see him there, but shook his head. "We split up, he was headed for the third floor." Aramis looked back at the blazing building, suddenly divining his meaning. "Are you saying he's still in there?" 

D'Artagnan nodded. "I'll come in with you if you say it's okay," he offered quickly, spying a way round Athos' ban. "If you think he needs help."

"Nobody's going anywhere," declared Treville, appearing behind them. "Until that fire's under control nobody goes back in."

They turned to look at him, surprised to find him in smart evening clothes. Being the captain of the firehouse he would be paged details of any call out, and Aramis suspected he'd used the excuse to get out of some tedious family gathering.

"Athos is still in there," Aramis told him.

"Then he'll have to get himself out again, won't he?"

"To be fair, it was fine when we went in," Aramis pointed out, not wanting Athos to be accused of reckless behaviour where it wasn't true. "I don't know what happened, but suddenly all hell broke loose." He shot a look at Porthos standing quietly at the back, wondering again what he was doing here. Porthos though had his eyes fixed unblinkingly on the building, and Aramis could see he was rigid with tension. 

"Look!" Porthos pointed towards the end wall, where a fire door had been shoved roughly open, and a handful of figures staggered out. In the smoke it was hard to see details, but Porthos finally realised with a dizzy sense of relief that one was indeed Athos. He'd clearly donated his breathing equipment to the elderly Indian lady beside him and was holding a small girl in one arm and a wriggling mass in the other that as he came closer turned out to be a furious cat.

When he saw them Athos discharged both burdens to the people with him and walked across. Porthos saw he had a livid scratch on his cheek, presumably from the cat, but was otherwise unharmed. He couldn't help himself and threw his arms around him.

"Athos. Thank God you're okay."

Athos hugged him back with a vague embarrassment but didn't look overly surprised to see him, and Aramis frowned thoughtfully.

Treville however, was highly indignant. "What the bloody hell's he doing here? This isn't a spectator sport you know."

"No sir. Sorry sir." Athos disengaged Porthos with a gentle firmness, but didn't push him away.

Treville looked Athos up and down with a keener eye for his well-being than he would ever have admitted and harrumphed. "Never mind the damn cat, you must be using up _your_ nine lives at a rate of knots. What the devil happened here?"

"It looked like the gas supply went up," d'Artagnan said, hoping to be noticed and wanting to make a good impression.

Aramis saw the way Athos looked at Porthos and Porthos looked away, and frowned. It hadn't felt like a gas fuelled fire to him, and there'd been no sign of a leak or build up that might have been responsible for an explosion, certainly not a series of them. But Athos didn't contradict d'Artagnan's assessment and Aramis trusted him enough not to interfere. Whatever was going on, Athos would have good reasons. He hoped.

In the distance, behind the ambulances and fire trucks, two police cars now pulled into the increasingly crowded area, and Athos moved closer to Porthos. 

"Go home," he said quietly. "I'll be hours here sorting things out. I'll come over later."

"Athos - I just - is everything - "

"Go home," Athos repeated more firmly. "You'll be in the way here." His expression was a blank mask of professionalism that left Porthos with no idea of how he felt, and he wondered if Athos was furious with him.

Porthos nodded, giving in. He murmured something meaningless about seeing him later, wanting to tell him he loved him and knowing it was neither the time nor the place. In any case Athos had already moved away, talking to Treville and Aramis. Even d'Artagnan had wandered off, was dealing with the worried queries of the suddenly homeless, and Porthos walked away, feeling utterly useless and alone.

\--

It was late when Porthos finally heard Athos' key in the lock, but he was still up and dressed. He hadn't been able to settle for worrying about everything, turning it over and over in his head until he was dizzy.

Athos looked tired and tense, and Porthos wrapped him in a hug that he barely returned.

"You should put something on that," Porthos chided, tracing the raised scratch on his cheek with a gentle finger.

"It's fine," Athos frowned, shrugging him off, but Porthos was determined.

"You don't want it to go septic." He dug out a tube of cream, carefully cleaned Athos' face and dabbed it on. "There. That's better."

"Thank you." Athos was sitting on the dining table by this point, and Porthos stood before him, feeling the tension between them and not knowing what to do.

"We need to talk," Athos sighed.

Porthos made a face. "Can't it wait till the morning?" 

"I don't think it can." Athos stared at him, caught between needing to know and fear of the answers. "How did you know what was going to happen tonight Porthos?" he asked quietly. "How did you know that building was going to catch fire before it happened?"

Porthos looked back at him, miserable and conflicted. With a sick sense of horror he suddenly wondered if Athos thought it was him.

"Do you think I did it?" he blurted.

Athos stared at him, a second too long for Porthos' comfort, then sighed. "No. I don't."

Porthos sagged with relief, and Athos frowned at him. "But I think you know who did."

"I can't tell you." Porthos looked away. "Don't ask me to Athos, please."

Athos slid off the table and stared at him in angry exasperation. "Do you realise what an awkward position you've put me in tonight Porthos? It was me that raised the alarm on this, what exactly am I supposed to put in my report?" He took in Porthos' wretched expression and softened his tone. 

"Look, okay, screw the report, I'll put it down as an anonymous tip off, we get more than you'd think. As long as it's never audited, it'll be fine. They record all incoming calls, but obviously there's no tape for this one." He frowned. "Aramis saw me take the call, but he doesn't know it was you. Although turning up at the scene like that was a fucking stupid thing to do."

"I was worried about you," Porthos said lamely, feeling awful that he was causing Athos to have to lie.

Athos narrowed his eyes as a thought occurred to him. "Did you know the place was going to blow up like that?" 

"No!" Porthos sank onto the sofa, wondering how everything could be going so wrong, so quickly. "I don't know," he amended helplessly. "There was maybe more I could have told you. Should have told you. I'm sorry."

"Tell me now," Athos said, sitting down too, although Porthos noticed he chose the chair rather than sit next to him.

Porthos sighed. "Someone came to see me. An old friend. She said that - the fire at Miracle Court was started deliberately. And that the same person was going to torch another place tonight. She wanted me to do something. I guess after last time - she was worried this time people would get hurt. That he was setting the fires on some kind of delayed action ignition. I should have told you that, I'm sorry, it was all so - I didn't think."

Athos put his head in his hands, then looked up through his fingers. "Jesus Christ Porthos." 

"I'm sorry." 

Athos shook his head. "You have to go to the police." 

"I can't!" 

Athos blinked at him. "Why not? For God's sake, you're talking about a crime here. What happens when he does it again?"

"He won't."

"How do you know?"

Porthos looked uncomfortable. "The same people own both buildings. They paid him to do it, so they could collect on the insurance."

"So, fraud as well as arson then?" Athos pointed out, and Porthos groaned. 

"Look, it's over. Why do we have to get involved?"

"We _are_ involved Porthos, you've seen to that." Athos leaned forward, willing him to see sense. "Do you know what we see in the fire service, a pattern that repeats itself all too often? Arson is addictive. You say this person did it for the money this time. What happens when next time he does it for the rush?"

Porthos dropped his eyes, unable to stand Athos' piercing gaze any longer. "I can't sell him out Athos. Whatever else he's done, he's still my friend."

"He set fire to a building you were asleep in," Athos reminded him incredulously. "I'm sorry Porthos, but you're asking me to conceal a crime here. If you won't go to the police with this information then I have to. Who is he, and where can they find him?"

Porthos shook his head stubbornly. "You're a fireman Athos, not a policeman. Leave it alone."

"I have a duty of care." Athos got to his feet and stood for a moment, looking down at him. "Nobody died this time. Maybe next time they won't be so lucky. How will you feel when an innocent person gets hurt, and you know you could have prevented it? Maybe it won't even be a stranger, have you considered that? How will you feel if it's d'Artagnan, or Aramis? Or me?"

"I'll talk to him," Porthos said desperately. "I'll make sure it doesn't happen again."

"Why would they even listen to you?" Athos gestured helplessly. "I don't understand why you're protecting someone who - " he broke off, as he made a sudden connection that he felt he really should have made some time ago.

"Oh. Oh God I've been stupid," Athos murmured under his breath. "This is Charon we're talking about isn't it? Your - ex?" He said the last word hesitantly, questioningly, as if wondering whether the ex part was still true.

"It's not what you think." It had occurred to Porthos that as far as Charon knew, the only person aware of what he'd done was Flea. If the police suddenly turned up wanting to speak to him, he would immediately know she'd ratted on him. He couldn't let that happen.

"I don't _know_ what to think," Athos said. "Look, I'll try and keep your name out of it," he offered.

"It's not me I'm worried about!"

Athos, assuming he was still defending Charon, looked sad. "Then I guess you've made your decision," he said softly. "And I have to make mine. I'm sorry, but people might die here Porthos. I won't - can't - let that happen. Not if I can do something to stop it."

He walked to the door and Porthos, furious with himself for getting into this mess in the first place and desperate to make Athos just wait a minute and let him explain, let him get his thoughts in order, lashed out.

"Athos, you walk out that door, then we're - "

He bit off the threat before he could finish it, horrified at himself. As if he would ever carry it through, as if there was anything in the world that Athos could do that Porthos wouldn’t forgive him for. 

But Athos was looking back at him with a pale, frozen expression, and Porthos realised too late that Athos had filled in the gaps and assumed he'd meant it.

"Athos no, no!" He meant it as a retraction of his words, but Athos took it as Porthos still trying to stop him going to the police and retreated behind a closed, shuttered expression.

"I'm sorry Porthos. I really am." Before Porthos could react he'd opened the door and slipped through it.

Stunned, still trying to comprehend what had just happened, it took the sound of the outer door closing to spur Porthos into movement. He wrenched the door to the flat open and hurled himself across the lobby, pulling the front door wide and stumbling out onto the front step. 

He was too late, the tail-lights of Athos' car were already disappearing down the street, and a distant part of Porthos' mind realised that Athos must have _run_ down the path to be that far away already. 

He watched the red lights fading into the distance, barely aware of the hot tears tracking down his cheeks.

\--

Porthos spent the next day in a numb daze. He got up and went to work on autopilot, going through the motions without caring. By the time he returned home he'd heard nothing from Athos, nothing from anyone. He'd more than half expected a visit from the police, but it hadn't materialised.

He stared at his phone, wondering if he should try calling Athos. It would be okay, Porthos told himself. They could work things out. They loved each other, didn't they? Maybe they just both needed today to calm down, to think things though. He would apologise, do whatever it took to get Athos to forgive him. It would be okay. It had to be.

Having barely slept the night before, Porthos fell into a troubled doze on the couch. His dreams were full of smoke and flame, and he was running through endless rooms desperately searching for Athos.

The front door buzzer woke him with a start, and it took a second for him to work out what it was. It sounded again and he leaped to his feet, convinced it must be Athos. No-one else would be calling on him at this hour, after all. Athos wanted to talk things through, Athos still cared, still loved him.

Porthos pulled open the front door smiling in relief. 

"Athos!"

Even as the name passed his lips, Porthos realised his mistake, felt his face falling in startled shock.

Charon stared back at him sourly. "Guess again."

"I want a word with you," Charon said brusquely, pushing past Porthos without waiting for an invitation and marching into the flat.

Porthos followed him, looking wary. 

"I had an unscheduled encounter with the filth this morning," Charon announced, hauling himself up to sit on the table. Porthos experienced a stab of resentment. That was Athos' accustomed place to perch, he'd sit there and watch Porthos cooking. Maybe he never would again, Porthos thought sadly, then shook himself.

"What did they want?" he asked, trying to look concerned. Charon shook his head slowly.

"Porthos, Porthos. What have I always said? Your poker face is shit, mate." He steepled his fingers and stared across them. "Now, thing is, there's only one person who knew about my involvement in this little affair. And I've established it weren't her that grassed me up."

"If you've laid one finger on Flea - " 

Charon dismissed his anger with a disdainful curl of the lip. "Are you kidding? She'd have your arm off. Nah, I'm just saying, she knows which side her bread is buttered, yeah?" He rubbed finger and thumb together in a cash gesture. "I'm rolling in it these days."

"You're full of it you mean," growled Porthos.

"Now now." Charon was eyeing him with a gleam of amusement and Porthos felt unsettled, sensing that Charon was somehow playing with him.

"One thing she did let slip, was that she'd had a little _chat_ with you," Charon continued speculatively, watching Porthos intently for his reaction.

"So - what, you think I went to the police?" Porthos demanded. "I've not spoken to them Charon, not a word, I swear." Silently grateful that he didn't have to lie about that at least. "I wouldn't do that, not to you."

Charon let him sweat for a second, then gave him a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "Nah. It's alright. I believe you."

Porthos relaxed a fraction. "You do?" He couldn't help the note of surprise that crept in, but Charon waved it away.

"I know you didn't." He looked serious for a second. "I've got powerful friends these days Porthos. In some very high places."

"You're nothing but a pawn," Porthos retorted. 

Charon was unmoved. "Maybe, but it's in a bigger game than you realise. And I know when and how to lean back on people. Got them to do a bit of digging for me. So yeah, I know it wasn't you. Tip off came from the Fire Service, so I'm told."

Porthos tried to look surprised. "Oh? Well you still seem to be at liberty."

Charon snorted. "They've got fuck all evidence, have they? My word against theirs, right? Except - afterwards I got to wondering how the fuck they suspected me in the first place, if there _was_ no evidence. I covered my tracks pretty well, I know that. So I do a bit more digging of my own. And you know what I discover? That my old mate Porthos is currently fucking a fireman. Now ain't _that_ a coincidence?"

Charon's voice had hardened, and he glared at Porthos with a certain poisonous anger, although his tone was still deceptively light. "What was it, bit of pillow talk? Trying to impress him? I'm disappointed in you Porthos, turning your back on your old friends like this."

"I tried to _protect_ you!"

"Really? Protesting my innocence while you sucked him off were you?" sneered Charon. "What turned your head Porthos? What's he got that's so beguiling? Big cock? Big house? Enormous sense of his own self-importance?" Charon smirked. "Does he get you to polish his helmet?"

"People could have died, Charon." Porthos shouted. "Did you once stop to think about that?" 

"Why should I care? None of them ever did anything for me," Charon shrugged.

"And me? What about me?" Porthos stared at him with a hurt expression. 

Charon sighed. "You were meant to get out. Not my fault if you were too fucking stupid to hear the alarms," he muttered, then his face hardened again. "And it doesn't mean I owe you anything."

"Why are you even here Charon?" Porthos groaned. "What do you want from me?"

"I want you to consider this a warning," Charon declared, getting off the table and shoving his hands in his pockets. "To stay out of my affairs. I'll let you off this time, for old times' sake, but you interfere again - well, let's just say I don't like people who cross me." 

He fixed Porthos with a steady cold gaze, and walked out the door.

Porthos sank slowly into a chair, feeling breathless. There'd always been an edge of menace to Charon, but this was the first time he'd ever felt it turned against him. Porthos somehow felt after everything he'd done for Charon he should have felt more of a sense of betrayal, but in reality there was only relief. It was over. Done with. Now he could make up with Athos and they would move on, and if the price was Athos wanting him to testify against Charon then fuck it, he would. He'd given his friend every chance and had it thrown back at him.

Porthos suppressed a shiver. He was glad after all that Athos hadn't been here, and hoped Charon hadn't taken note of the name Porthos had blurted on the doorstep. Because Athos _had_ been the one who'd gone to the police, and the malice in Charon's eyes as he'd walked out had been chilling.

Replaying the conversation over and over in his head, Porthos gradually realised that something Charon had said was jarring, nagging at him. _What's he got that's so beguiling? Big cock? Big house?_

_Big house?_

Porthos froze. At no point had Charon given the impression he knew who Athos was, in which case how did he know he lived in a big house? Just a throw away line? But it was hardly the first thing you associated with firemen. Porthos knew Aramis lived in a flat not much bigger than his, and d'Artagnan still lived with his parents. So how would Charon know what kind of house Athos lived in?

Unless he'd seen it?

Porthos went hot and cold all over. Charon had hinted at contacts inside the police. If that was the case, he could easily have got hold of Athos' details.

He grabbed his phone, was dialling Athos' number before he'd even thought about what he was doing. It was an over-reaction, Porthos told himself. Coincidence. Athos would be fine. 

But he wasn't answering.

Porthos hung up in frustration, wondering what to do. He looked at the clock. Assuming Athos was on the same shift tonight, he wouldn't be at work yet. Porthos wanted to go out there, but he had no car and no idea how many buses it would take to get there.

He picked up his phone again. There was somebody else he could try.

Aramis answered just as Porthos was about to give up, and sounded polite but wary. Porthos wondered how much Athos had told him.

"Aramis! It's um, it's Porthos. I don't suppose Athos is with you is he?"

There was a hesitation on the line before Aramis answered. "No. We're not due on shift yet. What's up?"

"I tried to call him and he's not answering. Look, this is going to sound odd but - would you call him? It might just be that he's not answering for me. I just - need to know he's okay."

Aramis sighed. "Look, Porthos, I like you, but whatever you and Athos have fallen out about, I'm not getting involved and I am absolutely not running messages."

So Athos hadn't told him. The fact that even after everything that had happened Athos was apparently keeping his promise to keep Porthos' name out of things made him feel more guilty and miserable than ever. But right now there was a more pressing matter.

"No, Aramis, wait, don't hang up. I didn't mean it like that. I mean - I genuinely need to know if he's okay. I don't mean whether he's crying into his beer, I mean he might be in danger."

There was a startled silence. "What do you mean - "

"Aramis please!" Porthos interrupted, begging now. "Just call him for me?"

Aramis sighed. "Oh alright. Hang on." He hung up, and Porthos spent the longest couple of minutes of his life just staring at the phone. Even so he still jumped when it rang, and he snatched it up, willing the display to read _Athos_ , even if he was only calling to tell him to fuck off. But it was Aramis.

"Alright, what the hell did you mean he might be in danger?" Aramis demanded, wading straight in without even a hello. 

He sounded tenser than he had before, and Porthos knew the answer even before he asked, "Did he answer?"

"No, it's just ringing out, and that's not like him. So what the fuck did you mean?"

Porthos screwed his eyes shut and sighed. "The person who torched the Court and the Mill might be going after him."

"And you know this how?"

"Because I know who did it. And I think he knows it was Athos who reported him."

Aramis hissed through his teeth. "So you're where he got the info from. I did wonder. What the fuck are you mixed up in Porthos?"

"Something I keep asking myself. Look, I don't suppose you could go out and - well, check on him could you?"

Aramis came to a decision. "You at home? We're not far from you, I'll pick you up on the way past. Be outside in a couple of minutes." He hung up before Porthos could object.

Sure enough a few minutes later Aramis pulled up in front of his gate, and the question of who 'we' was, was answered when he found d'Artagnan in the front passenger seat. 

Porthos clambered awkwardly into the back and leaned forward between the seats. D'Artagnan immediately slapped him round the head and he yelped.

"What was that for?"

"Making Athos miserable." D'Artagnan glared at him. "Saw him this morning and he was like a bear with a sore head. What have you gone and done?"

Porthos sighed. "Fucked up. Majorly. And I deserve everything I get, but if this rebounds on Athos - " he broke off, hardly wanting to contemplate it. "I'll never forgive myself."

"Oh cheer up, he's probably just too pissed to work his phone." Aramis rolled his eyes and put his foot down, and Porthos was flung back against the seat as they accelerated.

"Hold onto something," d'Artagnan advised. "He drives like a maniac even when he's not in a hurry."

"I heard that," Aramis complained. "Shut your cakehole or I'll let Porthos sit in the front instead."

"Could you maybe face the road for a bit?" d'Artagnan shot back. "Or at this rate it'll be Athos rescuing us."

Porthos fumbled for the seatbelt and kept quiet. As far as he was concerned, Aramis couldn’t get them there fast enough.

\--

Heavy cloud had made the onset of darkness come early and as they pulled up outside Athos' house it felt like the middle of the night.

A light showed within, and Porthos had a second of hope that Athos was inside and unharmed, going about his business oblivious to the alarm Porthos had managed to create in his friends. But it was a flickering light, fading in and out, and Aramis went rigid.

"Fire!" He almost fell out of the car in his haste, shoving his mobile at d'Artagnan. "Call it in." He was already running towards the door, Porthos at his heels.

"I don't have a key," Porthos panted.

Aramis shook his head. "We may not need one, he never locks his fucking door." Sure enough the handle yielded to Aramis' hand and they piled into the hallway, yelling Athos' name.

Smoke filled the space, and Porthos put an arm over his face, already coughing. Flames were licking up the panelling and devouring the furnishings, but it wasn't as well advanced as it might have been, and Porthos remembered the timers. 

Had Charon kept one back? Porthos realised with a sudden sick fury that Charon had used _him_ as his alibi. All the time Charon had been sitting in Porthos' flat, smiling at him, telling him he was letting him off the hook - he'd known Athos' house was about to start burning.

D'Artagnan ran in behind them. "They're on their way. What do we do?"

"Split up," Aramis said. "If you find him, yell. If it gets too dangerous, get the fuck out. That's an order." Ignoring the fact that it was technically already too dangerous and that none of them should be contemplating this at all without full kit, particularly Porthos, an untrained civilian.

Aramis ran off towards the kitchen, and Porthos made for the stairs. He was afraid now that something else, something worse had happened to Athos, or why hadn't he answered their frantic shouting? More to the point, why hadn't he got the hell out when the house caught fire? 

Maybe he wasn't at home, Porthos thought hopefully, flinching away as a curtain burst into flame next to him on the landing. Maybe this was just what Charon had said, a warning.

He fought his way forward against the thickening smoke into Athos' bedroom, finding it empty. He could hear Aramis and d'Artagnan shouting to each other downstairs, but it was all negatives. He ran out again, coughing fit to throw up, and moved down the hallway, checking rooms as he went.

He found him in the bathroom. Pushing the door open it caught against something that proved to be a pair of legs, and Porthos dropped to his knees with a strangled howl. 

Athos was sprawled on the floor, face down and unmoving. For a terrified second Porthos thought he was dead, and had to force himself to calm down enough to feel for the pulse in his neck. To his huge relief he found it quickly, Athos' skin warm beneath his shaking fingers.

"Athos? Athos!" He tried to rouse him to no avail, then remembered the others, still searching through burning rooms downstairs.

"He's here!" Porthos yelled. "I've found him!" He leaned over Athos' body, quietly pleading with him to wake up. Porthos thought at first he'd been overcome by the smoke, but as he turned him carefully over he found to his horror Athos had a cut over one eye, and his face was covered in blood. 

No wonder he hadn't run out when the building caught fire. He'd been knocked unconscious and left to burn.

Porthos gathered him into his arms, struggling to his feet with a strength born of anger. He wished he'd got Athos to teach him the proper lift now - he'd picked him up before when they'd been fooling around, but unconscious, Athos was an awkward dead weight.

He staggered down the stairs, feeling the wooden treads crack and splinter under his weight as the fire ate away at them.

In the hallway, willing hands appeared out of the smoke to help him, and together the three of them stumbled out of the house supporting Athos between them.

Sirens in the distance heralded the approaching fire engines, and Porthos realised the whole thing had only taken a few minutes. It felt like he'd been in there for years.

They crossed the road to a patch of grass and he laid Athos gently on the ground. He was still unconscious, and Porthos watched as Aramis tried to rouse him with no luck. D'Artagnan fetched a bottle of water from the car and carefully rinsed some of the blood away from his face.

"It's not a huge cut," Aramis said for Porthos' benefit. "Face wounds always bleed like a bastard," he added, seeing Porthos was staring at Athos' bloodsoaked shirt with a frozen fear. "He's breathing fine, that's the main thing. We found him in time. Thanks to you."

The clamour of two fire crews spilling out of their trucks surrounded them, and the siren of an approaching ambulance added to the racket.

"This is all my fault," Porthos said miserably, sitting on the damp grass next to Athos and clutching his unresponsive hand.

"Don't be daft," Aramis told him, resting a hand on his shoulder as d'Artagnan waved the ambulance crew over to them. "If it wasn't for you, things would be a lot worse, think of it that way."

"If I hadn't acted the way I did this wouldn't have happened," Porthos moaned. If he'd only done the right thing instead of trying to stand up for Charon, if he'd gone with Athos to the police, they might have had enough to keep Charon in custody. Even if they hadn't, Porthos would at least have stood a chance of being _with_ Athos this evening. 

Instead, because of him Athos had been alone and unhappy, before being attacked and left for dead. He got to his feet, tears making tracks through the streaks of dirt and smoke, as the paramedics lifted Athos onto a trolley.

"Will you go with him? To the hospital?" Aramis asked. To his surprise, Porthos shook his head.

"He won't want me there. Trust me. After this he'll never want to see me again." Porthos turned away and Aramis called after him. 

"Where are you going?"

Porthos looked back grimly. "To find the man who did this."

Aramis almost took a step back at the dangerous look on his face. "Oh. Well. Don't do anything I wouldn't do," he murmured.

"Yeah. Let us know if you need an alibi," added d'Artagnan.

Porthos hesitated, feeling an overwhelming sense of sadness. He would probably never see them again. He looked over at where Athos was being lifted into the back of the ambulance, and took a shuddering breath. 

"Look after him for me, yeah?" he said softly. Aramis nodded silently, and Porthos turned away, striding quickly off into the smoke.

Aramis and d'Artagnan exchanged a look, frustrated and confused. Aramis sighed and handed d'Artagnan his keys. "Here, take the car back. I'll go with Athos." He looked at his watch and winced. "Can you explain to Treville why neither of us will be on shift this evening?"

D'Artagnan nodded. "Call me when he comes round, yeah?"

"Yes, of course." To d'Artagnan's surprise, Aramis gave him a quick hug before climbing into the ambulance. They slammed the doors and he watched it drive away, sirens already screaming.

\--

It took Porthos less than two hours to find Charon. 

He took a bus heading back into the centre, knowing that he could have asked the others for a lift, but not wanting to involve them. He wasn't yet sure exactly what he was going to do when he found Charon, and he was afraid of incriminating anyone else if he went too far. Every time he pictured Athos' bloody form, lying so frighteningly still on the grass, he felt like he would be capable of choking the life out of Charon with his bare hands.

Porthos banged on doors of mutual acquaintances - he found he couldn't think of them as friends any longer - until he found someone willing to tell him where Flea was currently living, and marched round there with a cold purpose.

"Porthos!" Flea stepped back in alarm as Porthos shoved the door of the squat wide open and strode past her.

"Where is the little weasel?" he demanded, shoving doors open until he found the room they were occupying. Charon, to his growing fury, didn't even look surprised to see him, just glanced up from his dinner with a bored expression.

"Wondered how long it would be before you turned up."

"You bastard." Porthos found he was shaking. "You absolute bastard."

Charon got to his feet, looking resolute. "I told you Porthos. I don't like people who cross me."

"You could have killed him!"

Charon raised an eyebrow. "Meaning I haven't? Oh well." 

"When did you turn into a killer, Charon?" Porthos asked sadly. 

"Maybe it was when you turned your back on me." Charon folded his arms. "Enjoy your fireman Porthos. Be glad he made it. And stay out of my life. You can consider this a warning."

Porthos stepped forward with a determined expression. "Yeah? Well you can consider this a citizen's arrest." And he drew back his fist and punched Charon full in the face.

\--

When Porthos woke the next morning, he lay there for a whole peaceful second before recollection came flooding back, bringing with it a crushing weight of sadness.

He closed his eyes again, pulling the duvet over his head and trying to escape the knowledge that everything good about his life was gone.

The night before he'd bodily dragged a semi-conscious Charon to the nearest police station. It had taken Porthos a while to get them to take him seriously, and he'd come close to getting arrested himself until he'd finally convinced them to cross-check with the night's emergency calls. From there things had escalated rapidly and he'd finally been able to go home in the early hours, leaving a sullen Charon behind in custody. 

Porthos rolled out of bed with a groan. He couldn't face going to work and phoned in sick, going to stand under a hot shower in the hope it would beat out some of the numbness that seemed to be filling his body.

He wondered how Athos was, hoping desperately he was awake and recovering. He'd checked his phone as soon as he'd got up, and checked it again now, hoping that Aramis might at least have texted him any news, but it remained obstinately silent.

Maybe Athos had forbidden any contact, Porthos thought gloomily. Or maybe if Athos had told Aramis the full story he'd decided for himself Porthos wasn't worth bothering with any longer. He couldn't blame them.

When the door buzzer sounded Porthos frowned. He couldn't imagine who it might be, and could only think that it must be the police wanting to ask him more questions.

When he opened the front door and found Aramis on the step his heart leaped into his mouth.

"Athos?"

To his relief Aramis gave him an understanding smile. "He's awake," Aramis nodded. "And asking for you."

Porthos stared at him. "For me?" A brief flicker of hope flared and then died again as he considered the fact that Athos might only want to tell him to his face he never wanted to see him again. "Are you sure?"

Aramis looked at his tense expression and sighed impatiently. "So are you coming or what?"

On the short drive to the hospital Aramis refused to be drawn on what Athos might want, other than to confirm that he was out of danger. Upon arrival, Aramis took him to a ward, identified them to the sister, who seemed unfeasibly pleased to see him back, and then lead Porthos to a sideroom.

"Right, want a coffee?" Aramis said brightly. "You go on in. I'll be right back."

Porthos stared at him in dismay. "Aren't you coming in with me?"

Aramis clapped him on the shoulder. "Porthos, you're a grown man. I'm sure there's some balls in there somewhere." And he strode off, leaving Porthos staring at the door nervously.

He inched it open, sidling through the gap feeling like a small boy summoned to see the headmaster. Athos was sitting up in bed, and Porthos was relieved to see he looked so well. He'd had visions of bandages and drips and machines, but there was none of that, just Athos with a couple of stitches in his forehead, looking bored.

Athos looked up as he came in, clearly expecting Aramis or a nurse, and Porthos couldn't read the flash of emotion that passed across his face before he schooled his features into polite caution. It could have been pleasure, relief. It could equally have been anger.

Porthos came slowly towards the bed, and gave Athos a hesitant smile, with lips that were threatening to tremble. Athos looked tired and a little lost and all Porthos wanted to do was gather him into his arms and hold him. 

Athos was looking at him now with the same helpless expression Porthos suspected was on his own face, as if neither of them knew where to begin.

"How are you doing?" Porthos asked, taking a little heart from the fact Athos hadn't immediately had a go at him. 

Athos nodded vaguely. "Not so bad. Just smoke inhalation and a concussion, which is why I'm still here, they want to keep an eye on me for a bit." He looked down at the bedclothes, seemed to take a steadying breath. 

"I'm sorry Porthos," he said quietly.

Porthos gaped at him. " _You're_ sorry? Whatever for?" In his surprise he sat down on the edge of the bed, but Athos didn't object.

"I asked you to betray someone you loved," Athos said. "I was angry with you for staying loyal to someone. I was unreasonable, and - and I'm sorry."

Porthos suddenly realised that the last time they'd spoken, Athos had assumed Porthos had been throwing _him_ out, and the breath caught in his throat at the unfairness of it all. But there was something else in Athos' words that needed addressing first.

"I don't love him," Porthos said. "Charon and I were over a long time ago. There's only one man I love," he added sadly. "And he has every reason to hate me." 

When he hesitantly looked up, Athos was staring at him. 

"That doesn't mean he does?" Athos ventured. 

They looked at each other for a weighted second, a tentative hope creeping in.

"Aramis tells me you saved my life?" Athos said. "That you raised the alarm, and carried me out of there. I - thank you."

Porthos gave a bleak laugh. "Given that it was my fault it all happened in the first place, I don't deserve any thanks." He remembered something that Athos would want to know. "Charon's in custody. Dragged his sorry arse there myself. I told them everything, they're holding him."

"Aramis said you'd gone after him," Athos nodded. "I was worried. I'm sorry," he added, "I know you didn't want to get involved."

"Stop apologising!" Porthos blurted. "You could have been killed and it was all my fault, and just - stop bloody apologising for things you don't have to!"

Athos looked startled, and Porthos winced at his ham-fisted approach, and then Aramis walked in balancing three coffees.

He put two down on the bedside table, took in the awkward silence and frowned. "Have you two not kissed and made up yet? Am I going to have to bang heads together?"

Athos glared at him. "Aramis - "

Aramis put his free hand up in a gesture of surrender. "I know, I know, fuck off." He left again, and this time when Athos and Porthos looked back at each other there was a slight edge of amusement.

"Guess he doesn't know the whole story," Porthos sighed, grateful that Aramis seemed to be rooting for him, but resigned as to the outcome.

Athos shook his head. "Actually he does." When Porthos looked surprised he blushed a little. "When I came round, I - well, I'm going to blame the painkillers, but I may have - unburdened myself a little," he said looking embarrassed. "I told him everything."

"What did he say?" Porthos couldn't help asking.

"Called me a twat." Athos gave a twist of a smile. "Told me I'd mishandled everything massively, that I didn't deserve you, that if I hadn't had a concussion already he'd have slapped me round the head, and that he was going to fetch you immediately."

Porthos looked startled. "He told me you asked to see me!" He felt uncomfortable as the significance of this sank in. "You didn't?"

"Well, no," Athos admitted, then stretched out a hand as Porthos looked like he was going to get up. "But that doesn't mean I didn't want to." He hesitated. "I thought you might have - come to see me anyway?" he said in a small voice.

Porthos reached out and took Athos' hand that was still resting on the covers. "I wanted to. Of course I did. I've been so worried about you. I just - didn't think you'd want to see me," he said with a defeated sigh. "I'm so sorry Athos. This is all my fault."

"Of course it isn't. You weren't the one who hit me were you?"

"No!"

"Well then. You can't take responsibility for everything you know." Athos smiled at him. "You've been hanging round me for too long if you think like that."

Porthos smiled back a little sadly, but it was gradually dawning on him that Athos was still holding his hand. He rubbed his thumb over Athos' knuckles and Athos tightened his grip. Porthos followed suit, until they were squeezing each other's hand almost painfully hard, each searching the other's face for confirmation of what they hardly dared hope.

" _Athos_." Porthos couldn't stand it any longer, he leaned forward and pulled Athos into his arms. To his amazed relief, Athos immediately wrapped his own arms around him and clung to him with a desperate strength.

For a while they just held each other, pressed cheek to cheek, chests heaving with the effort of not simply bursting into tears. 

"I love you," Athos breathed finally, ragged and emotional. "I love you Porthos."

Porthos drew back and kissed him shakily on the lips. "I love you too. So much. God, Athos, I - "

"It's okay." Athos gave him a watery smile, tracing Porthos' mouth with his fingertip. "It's okay." He kissed him back, and this time it was warmer, deeper, and they stayed pressed together, breathing each other in.

"Can we just - start again somehow?" Porthos suggested after a while when they'd calmed down a little, although not enough to let go of each other.

Athos kissed him softly, with a smile. "Why don't we start from 'I love you', and go from there?"

\--

By late afternoon Athos was given the all-clear and allowed to go home. Porthos took him back to the flat and immediately insisted he get into bed.

Athos groaned. "I don't want to go to bed. I've been in bed all day."

"They said you need rest," Porthos told him implacably. 

"Will you get in with me then?" Athos asked hopefully, changing tack and winding his arms round Porthos' neck.

Porthos laughed, and kissed him. "No strenuous exercise, the nurse said."

"What about gentle exercise?" Athos countered. "Wouldn't want me to seize up."

Porthos smiled. "Get into bed and we'll see."

Athos undressed obediently. He was wearing smoke stained jeans and a shirt Aramis had leant him, and sighed as he sat down on the bed. "I need to buy some new clothes. I don't even have anything to sleep in."

"I can lend you a t-shirt if you want? But naked's good," Porthos smirked. "What's wrong with naked?"

He stripped down to his boxers and joined Athos in the bed. Despite his complaints and teasing, Athos settled back into the sheets with a clear degree of relief, and Porthos frowned.

"You alright?"

"Yeah." Athos caught his searching look and sighed. "Just a bit dizzy, that's all."

"Do you need anything?" Porthos asked anxiously, shifting across until Athos was nestled in the crook of his arm.

"Just to be here with you," Athos said softly. 

Porthos hugged him close. "Tell me the truth. Exactly how rough are you feeling right now?"

Athos hesitated. "Fairly?" he admitted.

"Then no funny business," Porthos declared. "Not until you're feeling better."

"Might speed my recovery," Athos smiled, but he didn't object again, and to Porthos' amusement he was fast asleep inside five minutes.

\--

By the weekend Athos was recovered enough to be up and about, and insisted on driving them out to look at the house. It was blackened and filthy, barriered off with crime scene tape, but at least still standing. They stood in the road looking up at it and Porthos put his arm around Athos' waist.

"I'm sorry about your house," he said quietly.

Athos slipped his own arm around Porthos, and leaned into him. "It's not as bad as it looks," he said. "They tell me the structure's fine. It's mostly cosmetic. They put it out before it could do too much damage." 

The fire investigation team had also found remains of Charon's timing device in the wreckage, and it looked like he wouldn't be on the streets again for some time to come.

Porthos had gone looking for Flea, partly to see if she was okay and partly to see if he could convince her to give evidence, but the squat was cleared out and nobody knew where she'd gone. Porthos suspected she'd done a bunk with Charon's payoff money, and privately wished her well.

Now, he hugged Athos to him, wondering how he must feel. "Be good as new in no time," Porthos told him reassuringly, but Athos shook his head.

"I think I'll sell it," he said to Porthos' surprise.

"But it's your home?"

Athos sighed. "Been rattling around in there by myself for too long, it's not healthy." He looked at Porthos and smiled. "I think I'll buy somewhere in the centre. Nearer to the fire house."

"Oh. Okay." Porthos nodded, thinking it would certainly be nice to have Athos closer.

Athos hesitated. "I was thinking - you could - maybe move in with me?" 

Porthos was startled, then gave an awkward laugh. "Don't think I could afford the bills on the kind've place you'd be looking at."

"I didn't say you'd have to."

Porthos smiled at him patiently. "I won't sponge off you Athos. Leave me some pride, eh?"

Athos frowned and pulled him round until they were facing each other, kissing him softly. "You could always pay me in cake," he murmured.

"Is that what they're calling it these days?" Porthos grinned, kissing him back, and pressing his face into Athos' hair as he held him close. He could think of nothing nicer than to live with Athos, and wondered if he should just give in. Principles could be overrated.

"Say yes," Athos murmured, apparently reading his mind.

Porthos pulled back and looked at him with a sigh. "Alright. On one condition," he added.

"What's that?"

"You withdraw all objections to me joining the fire brigade." Porthos tried to look stern, but it was undermined by the fact he kept breaking into a smile every time he looked at Athos. "Someone needs to keep an eye on you, after all."

Athos looked amused. "Alright."

"What? Really?" Porthos was wrongfooted, having expected Athos to argue.

"Yeah. Why not. If you're going to insist on running into burning buildings on my behalf, you might as well have the training," Athos smiled.

"You bastard. You were going to agree to that anyway, weren't you?"

Athos' smile widened. "Might have been."

They laughed, winding closer together and kissing each other again fondly. Porthos noticed a curtain twitch in one of the nearby houses, and snorted.

"I think your neighbours are watching us."

"Fuck 'em."

"I'd rather fuck you." Porthos captured his mouth in a deep and intimate display of feeling.

"Kiss me like that again, we're going to get arrested for lewd behaviour in a public place," Athos murmured, half-laughing and breathless.

"Are you hard?" Porthos asked him in an undertone, smiling against his lips.

Athos nodded. "You?"

Porthos smirked. "Constantly." He looked around, as if suddenly realising exactly how overlooked they were here. "We could go back to the flat?"

"Not sure I can wait that long," Athos told him. "Got an idea though. Come with me." 

He lead Porthos back to the car and drove a few minutes further out. Abruptly the suburbs dropped away and they were driving down a tree-lined lane. Athos took a couple more turnings and pulled into a trackway leading into a small wood. He turned the engine off and looked at Porthos. "Private enough for you?"

"Local dogging spot?" Porthos grinned, but he was already unbuckling his seatbelt and reaching for Athos.

For a while they necked like a couple of teenagers, hungry for each other's mouths. Porthos worked Athos' fly open and promptly bent over his lap, sucking him with undisguised pleasure in between trying to massage his own aching erection through his jeans.

He sat up, lips slick and breathing hard, and Athos kissed him.

"Don't suppose you've got a condom on you?" Porthos asked, sounding rather strained. 

"Might be some in the glovebox," Athos said. He'd chucked a bag of supplies in there when they'd first come to the house, but it had turned out Porthos was carrying too and they hadn't needed them.

Porthos fumbled the compartment open and gave a yelp of triumph as he found both condoms and lube.

"Will you fuck me?" he asked hopefully. In answer Athos kissed him again, open mouthed and desperate, nodding against his lips and they scrambled awkwardly into the back. 

Porthos worked his jeans and pants down around his knees and got on all fours across the seat, his cock slapping up against his stomach with every movement. Athos watched him with an amused and possessive wonder, hardly able to credit how gloriously blatant and trusting Porthos was. He ached with love and pride and lust for him, and wasted no time in pulling down his own clothing enough to free his rigid cock.

Since their reconciliation they hadn't had sex, not properly. They'd made each other come, with gentle touches and words of love, but that had been more about reassurance, about reaffirming their closeness. They hadn't truly screwed, and by now they were oh so ready.

Athos hurriedly rolled on a condom and went to work with a palmful of lube, slicking himself up quickly before paying rather more attention to Porthos, working one, two, three fingers slowly inside him until he was shaking with need and arousal.

"Please Athos," Porthos begged, trying to wank himself off with one hand without losing his balance. "Please."

Athos lined up behind him and pushed in with a single long, smooth thrust. Porthos gave a throaty groan of delight as Athos filled him deeper and deeper until he could feel Athos' thighs pressed against his buttocks.

"Fuck." Porthos bowed his head, propping himself up on both elbows as Athos starting pounding him in earnest. It was cramped in the back seat, and at one point Porthos banged his head on the door handle, but every thrust, every moan, every hot, sticky, shuddering second felt like the sweetest they'd ever spent.

Athos ran his hands over Porthos' hips, pushing his shirt up out of the way and sliding a hand round in front of him to grasp his cock, pulling him off with short rough strokes as he fucked him. Porthos practically whimpered his approval, pushing back onto Athos, driving him deeper and making him groan from the sensations.

After what felt like both a blissful eternity and entirely too soon, Porthos could feel his climax building. Athos was still working him closer with every stroke, fingers warm and firm around his cock as he filled him over and over, making him see stars. Eventually Porthos couldn't hold back a second longer, and with a blithe disregard for his surroundings came all over the back seat with a loud and heartfelt groan. 

The feeling of Porthos shaking in orgasm was enough to make Athos follow suit, and he bent forward over Porthos' back with a satisfied sigh of completion. For a moment they didn't move, but stayed locked together recovering their breath, Athos' arms wrapped securely around Porthos' waist. Then they carefully disentangled themselves and slumped together on the seat, trying to pull up their trousers in the sudden recollection that they were actually doing this in public in broad daylight.

Porthos suddenly gave a laugh and looked guiltily at Athos.

"What?"

"I appear to have spunked all over your upholstery," Porthos confessed with a grin.

Athos leaned against him sleepily and smiled. "Kinky."

Porthos snorted. "Don't you fall asleep on me. You've got to drive us back into town yet."

"Not my fault if you wear me out," Athos yawned, and Porthos kissed him fondly. 

"Let's go home and go to bed."

"I'm not _that_ tired," Athos laughed, and Porthos grinned at him meaningfully.

"Who said anything about sleeping?"

\--

A couple of weeks later, Athos took Porthos along to view a potential apartment. To his surprise it was on the first floor over a bakery, and as they stood looking up from the street below Porthos side-eyed Athos with a cautious suspicion. Now he came to think about it Athos had been acting nervous all morning.

"So, the first thing I should probably say is that it comes as a package with the retail unit." Athos sneaked a look at Porthos to gauge his reaction. "Good price, actually." He bit his thumbnail, then took the plunge. "How would you feel about it?"

Porthos stared at him. "Athos - I don't know anything about running a business?" he stammered.

Athos shrugged. "I do. Wouldn't expect you to run the place on your own." He gave a sudden smile. "Just - you know. Fill it. What do you say?"

Porthos looked from him to the bakery frontage and back again. It was what he'd dreamed of in idle fantasy moments, but to be offered it on a plate, and expected to make his mind up there and then was overwhelming. 

"You can't just _buy_ a shop for me," he said gruffly.

"Technically, I can," Athos said offhandedly. "I mean - it _was_ for sale. It's not like I made a hostile take-over or something."

"What do you mean 'was' for sale?" Porthos asked suspiciously. Athos immediately looked shifty and he groaned. "You've actually gone and bought it haven't you?"

"Possibly," Athos admitted.

"What happens if I say no?"

"Then I'm fucked," said Athos cheerfully.

Porthos stared at him frustratedly. "You can't just make sweeping decisions on someone's life without asking them first."

Athos looked suitably abashed. "You're right. I apologise. I'll sell it on, and we'll look at something else."

"Look - wait - I'm not saying no, okay, I'm just making a point here."

"Point taken." Athos looked sideways at him. "So was that a yes then?"

Porthos glared at him, realising Athos had just called his bluff. "Fine. Yes. You're insane, but yes."

Athos smiled at him then with a definite streak of amusement, and Porthos pulled him into his arms with a growl. "Don't look at me like that," he complained.

"Like what?"

"Like you know perfectly well you've got me twisted round your little fucking finger."

"Have I?" Athos smiled, and kissed him.

"Honestly?" Porthos looked into his eyes and smiled back helplessly. "There's no place I'd rather be."

\--


End file.
